Restoration Reloaded
by FracturedLights
Summary: Wars break things. Homes, schools, and people. When learning to come to terms with the new face of Wizarding Britain after the defeat of Voldemort, Hermione discovers just how deep wounds can cut, and that cures come from surprising places. A complete re-write of my story Restoration. AU, not epilogue friendly, M. Beta'd by Maddiechu.
1. Fallen

**Beta'd by Maddiechu.**

It had been hours. Hours since the cold, bloodless body of Lord Voldemort hit the floor.

They'd come like a benevolent swarm. Aurors from the ministry, Healers from St Mungos. Soon unfamiliar uniforms had joined them, French, German and Spanish inscriptions on their robes, their broken English joining the cacophony of noise emanating from the school.

As Harry had left for his soft bed in Gryffindor tower, Hermione had found herself drifting straight back to the Great Hall. The school was in pieces. Large holes had been blasted through the stone walls of classrooms, and even in the outer walls themselves. The portraits were screaming and sobbing, some had huddled together in a random frame, to comfort one another. Other portraits had taken up their weapons, swords, polearms, wine glasses; anything they could brandish in a particularly threatening manner and were yelling insults at the foreign Auror teams as violently as they could. Great gashes and rips had become the focus point of many portraits, whilst some had clearly been blasted apart. White smoke complete with an acrid tang filled the air as Hermione sauntered past freshly extinguished paintings, as others outright blazed. There was little she could do for those. She was not an expert art restorer, she reasoned with herself as stone crunched like gravel under her feet.

She strode absently past suits of armour and statues that had been obliterated; some had been melted. A suit crawled towards its arm, lying several feet away. Hermione picked it up, placing it at the head of the armless victim. It gave a small salute, before attaching the lost limb to its breastplate and lying, motionless on the floor like a corpse; McGonagalls' magic evaporating. Again, Hermione could do nothing for the damage to the metal of one of Hogwarts brave defenders. Nor could she restore any of the statues that had been destroyed.

Nor could she stomach removing the red smears and ruby puddles that indicated a casualty.

Hermione swallowed heavily, turning the corner into a corridor that was the most direct route to the Great Hall to find a small team of Healers bent over a body, its legs twitching violently; Death Eater robes muddy and garnet at his ankles. A pair of Aurors, French if the inscription on their robes was anything to go by, stood guard. One of them held the chains of captivity in his hands, his olive skinned face a picture of distaste as he watched the Healers stabilise the wounded man.

"Madame," The other Auror said to Hermione, quietly, respectfully. His dark blue eyes indicated that he knew _exactly_ who she was. She opened her mouth to reply, but discovered that words were failing her at that moment. He gave a small smile in reply to her unintentional silence, those dark blue eyes filled with understanding. She responded by throwing him a thankful glance, his arm gently reaching out to her elbow, guiding her around the body, away from the realities of a war. He let go of her the moment they'd passed the small huddle, respectful of her personal space. Hermione began to get the intense feeling he'd seen some people like her more than once. She dipped her head to him in thanks, realising for now, speaking was not going to be possible, and headed towards the stairs.

From her vantage point at the top of the stairs she could see the entrance hall below her, and the stream of people walking in and out of the front doors that had been left wide open. A fresh, startlingly cold breeze for the month of May was blowing in, the scent of grass sweet. Hermione hadn't noticed just how much the school had stunk of death until now. She grimaced a little, instead focusing her eyes on the steps, careful not to slip on odd slick puddles of various potions brought up from the potions classrooms below.

Everything had been a weapon.

The sounds of footsteps and hurried, worried words to one another pulled Hermione along, down the stairs and towards the Great Hall. Families were leaving, slowly but surely, either of their own accord or following their wounded to St. Mungos. Sometimes their dead. Hermione tiredly passed the distraught Patil twins, their arms wrapped around each other as their tears streamed down their identical faces, a healer quietly explaining to them that Lavender would not be allowed visitors for at least a month or two due to the nature of her injuries. She was sure they would understand.

A small huddle of people had gathered around something in particular and with a shock of alarm and disgust Hermione realised it was Voldemort's' corpse. She'd seen it moved earlier of course, before Harry had said to herself and Ron that he was behind them, and they'd left to see to things alone. This time however, it turned her stomach.

The grey shell of a man was being relentlessly prodded, poked, tapped and kicked. His robes were being levitated by those with a wand, or flowers were being summoned out of his gaping mouth. His body had become a toy of sorts. She understood why. People had believed him dead before. Then he'd returned. The same, insidious tactics employed causing terror and death wherever he looked.

This time, people would want some sort of proof of his death. Some kind of validation. What better way than to openly disrespect his body. It was behaviour that was definitely going to have earnt them a death penalty had he been alive. It was beyond disrespectful, but it was effective. It was going to be hard to argue with the pictures of someone attempting to pull his ear off.

Hermione made her way into the Great Hall, quiet sniffs ahead of her caught her attention. Madam Pomfrey sat with her head in her hands, deep breaths rolling her shoulders up and down in a slow rhythmic manner. She shook quietly, her skin a deathly white pallor, exhaustion scrawled on to the lines in her face.

"Healer," A woman in the healing robes of Mungo's said, crouching down below Madam Pomfrey, her blonde haired head peering up at her; a potion in her hand. "Healer, please, take this and rest. Let us do the rest you have done enough; more than what was asked of you I am sure." She soothed, pressing the bubbling vial into Pomfrey's hands.

"So many of them," gasped Pomfrey as she brought the vial to her lips, a shudder of grief escaped as tear slid down her pale cheek. "Just so many."

"You did what you could Sister, we are proud of you. Your school will be proud of you. I am sure." The Healer cooed, warm eyes settling on Madam Pomfrey, as her compassionate hand squeezed the school Nurses. Madam Pomfrey swallowed the vial and relaxed. Closing her eyes and letting the tears run free.

Hermione swallowed, wishing she could find the Weasley family or… or… or…

"Hermione?" Ginny's soft voice asked, taking hold of her hand gently. She turned, looking to the sound of her voice.

"Ginny," Hermione heard herself answer; "How… how are…" she trailed off, exhaustion creating clouds in her usually clear mind.

"The rest of the family are leaving, they're going to come back tomorrow. Shacklebolt wants to speak to us all, and he wants to do it here. Hogwarts is going to act as a hub of sorts for a little while. Mum and Dad want to go with Fred's body. They say I can go find…" Ginny looked drained herself, the lines of emotional strain beginning to carve themselves across the soft plane of her forehead.

"In his bed in Gryffindor tower," Hermione told her immediately, letting go of Ginny's hand, and taking her face in her fingers. Ginny let a half amused laugh slip past her lips, but the tiredness cut it short, and sorrow turned it to a sob. Ginny's hands took a gentle hold of Hermione's head in return, as the older girl pressed a small kiss to her forehead. Ginny returned the affection unthinkingly.

"Tomorrow," she promised as they released one another.

"Tomorrow," Hermione agreed, letting Ginny leave.

As the first girl in the Weasley family to be born in seven generations left, the rest of the family walked towards the entrance. They gave Hermione expressions of apology as they walked away, following a Healer and a levitated stretcher. A wand placed on top respectfully. Hermione shook their apologies away; placing her hand over her heart in a show of her love for them, her lip trembling as tears threatened to spill.

She'd sat with them earlier, grieving with Ron. She'd kissed the hands of both Lupin and Tonks, distraught in their leaving her. Now, both their bodies had gone, where; she didn't know. She looked for Ron, not knowing why. She knew he wasn't with them. He'd gone his own way for a little bit.

They'd shared a passionate kiss hours ago, but she didn't want to be in a relationship with him. She didn't want to be with him. She couldn't. It wasn't what was right for her. Now that the last screams had died and the last soul to slip through the skin had gone from Hogwarts hallowed halls, she could see it for what it was. Her feelings for Ron had come from realising that her friendship with Harry ran the real risk of her dying young. She loved Harry like a brother, but in the back of her mind was a constant worry. She wanted to have the normal, teenage flings where emotions and hormones ran high, but Harry obviously wasn't an option, and her brain intimidated other prospects. A wave of sickness rolled over her like the moon pulling the ocean to a shore. She was in a hall full of grieving, distraught, ruined people; thinking about her relationship prospects.

What had happened to her?

A war. A war had happened.

She sighed, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table; food was appearing slowly, cold cut meats, cheeses, fruits; bread rolls and butters – all things that required no cooking she noted wryly. With a deep breath, she took an apple, admiring the freshness of it in a melancholy manner. It had been a long while since she'd eaten something of good substance.

A clatter in the corner caused Hermione to look up hopefully; for what, she wasn't quite sure. Another wand had been thrown into a pile by the doors. Some were in pieces, snapped and spitting sparks as another length of magic infused wood was tossed onto it. A few upset and worried people had gathered by it, searching through it hopefully. Once in a while someone would be reunited with their wand, and a celebratory burst of magic would explode from that end of the room; the owner with an expression of sheer elation as they earned a part of them back.

A pang stabbed at her heart as she watched Ernie McMillian pick up his wand from the pile of abandoned ones and leave with a fresh expression of ecstasy. She missed her wand dreadfully. She still had Bellatrix's wand, which resisted her and felt thick under her command, as if she were willing her magic through a river of crude oil.

She knew why she'd come back to the hall, but part of her thought it was futile, chances were slim that her wand had made it through the war in one piece. So many lay shattered or in pieces, or snapped, or hissing and spitting sparks.

Her wand was going to be by Bellatrix's corpse if it was here at all, here and not in the pile of wands. She pocketed her apple, standing once more and feeling as if the last of her energy was being sapped by the floor she stood upon. She had no desire to ever encounter Bellatrix Lestrange again; dead or alive. But… her wand.

She cast her eyes over the room, praying to herself that the Death Eater's body hadn't been removed yet, the Hall was emptying more and more as healer teams continued to travel in and out, carrying corpses and the injured away. To her luck and dismay, Bellatrix's body was still there. The sheet that covered her barely covered her wild hair, her claw like hand peaked out from beneath, but the rest of her was shielded from view by the Malfoy family.

Narcissa was sobbing quietly to herself, her ice white hand holding a handkerchief delicately as she dabbed at her cheeks, as Lucius attempted to comfort her, although it was clear her son was doing a better a job. They looked much like they had a few hours ago, unsure if they were meant to be there, but no one had asked them to leave yet. They looked very much like they had nowhere to go. It also looked as if they were not going to leave the dead body of Narcissa's blood relative alone. If Hermione wanted her wand, she was going to have to look with all of the Malfoy's present.

A hand rested on Hermione's shoulder suddenly, the grip was gentle, yet firm. She turned, looking into the warm eyes of Minerva McGonagall.

"Why?" Hermione said, looking pointedly at the Malfoy family.

"Foolishness." Minerva answered with a sigh, "It's got them this far, but I believe Shacklebolt will be getting to them soon. It's better he rounds up the ones who chose to run first I think." Her hand left Hermione's shoulder, as the older woman stepped forward, making motions to leave. Hermione turned her eyes to her mentor to look at her properly, and swallowed, seeing the elderly woman drenched in blood and dust. Her wiry grey hair was loose, wild about her shoulders, matted with blood and the slightest hint of her severe bun sagged at the top of her head. Her tartan robes were torn, several patches of dust were indicative of a fall she had taken about her knees, and a rip in her sleeve revealed a sparkling patch of ruby. Her blood had trickled down her arm to the back of her hand, and a garnet stain was now there like a tattoo.

"Of course," Hermione agreed, thoughtlessly.

"I hope to see you tomorrow Miss Granger," McGonagall said quietly before striding away, with dedication. She passed a group of Aurors and Shacklebolt, who were making a beeline for the Malfoy family, their faces drawn and serious. The Aurors all had fresh, clean robes on They'd clearly reached Hogwarts the moment the battle had finished, or were simply recruits. Shacklebolt however, wore the efforts of battle. His face was blood splattered; a graze gracing his left cheek; as though he had not been able to look away from an explosion fast enough, the tracks of shrapnel had left little paths of blood down his face. It gave any little motion of his mouth a grim shadow, an odd sense of foreboding that did not belong to him. Shacklebolt's deep red robes were missing a sleeve, and the lapels had been roughly removed at some point in the night, but it was the way he favoured putting his weight on his right foot that told Hermione he'd be needing to see a Healer at some point soon.

Their approach had clearly been spotted by the Malfoy's, who exchanged a briefly panicked glance between each other, and made to meet Shacklebolt in the middle. To Hermione's surprise, both Narcissa and Lucius stopped Draco from following, their faces drawn painfully thin. The Malfoy heir looked irritated, yet fell back at his parents' orders.

If there was any time for her to retrieve her wand, it was going to be now. She may not be able to face the entire Malfoy family, but Draco, Draco the boy who had desperately wished to look away when his aunt had stabbed and clawed at her on the floor of her home. Dredging up her resolve, she strode over, determination drawing colour to the absolute mess she was.

Her hair was ragged; blood, dust and grime from months on the run had matted it. Her skin had a developed sheen of filth that most definitely wasn't helping the healing of her multiple wounds. She was even more of a mess than others in the hall. Her clothes were ripped, and scorched from multiple sources of flame. More embarrassing, if she could muster the energy to care was that she was aware she owned a rather pungent scent.

She neared the body of Bellatrix, and as she did so, she threw a furtive glance towards Lucius and Narcissa. Shacklebolt was speaking talking in a deliberately low voice with Lucius Malfoy, who was currently paling fast, his lips drawn together in a furious line. Defeat scrawled on to his posture. A sliver of blood had smeared its way into his blond locks, and his Death Eater robes were missing a rather large chunk of fabric from the cloak. Narcissa was crying openly, there was a pair of black streaks down her cheeks where her tears had caused her make up to run, her hair was a mess as if she'd been running earlier in the day. She most likely had been. The bottom of her robes held a halo of mud, due to her emerging from the forbidden forest with the Death Eaters when Harry had let himself be killed.

"Leniency!" Lucius was hissing, practically begging Shacklebolt, his hand trembling with what could have been interpreted as anger, but it became evident it was fear.

"I will grant you this, Mr Potter has spoken of your wife's intervention, and your son's… unwillingness to comply at a previous date; but you Lucius," Shacklebolt seethed his distaste bright in his eyes. "You shall face the full punishment of the law. This is not something you can escape from this time." Lucius was nodding, as Narcissa struggled to compose herself. The Malfoy's aristocratic airs were slipping, and slipping hard.

Bellatrix lay at her feet. Cold and lost to the afterlife. Hermione stopped listening to the continued conversation of the Malfoy's and Shacklebolt as her eyes fell to the mad woman's chest.

No wand lay there.

Panic swelled inside of her, bubbling uncontrollably under her skin, her vision blurring.

"Oi, Granger." She recognised the voice. "Granger." It repeated, impatient. Worn. As exhausted as she felt.

"What." She sighed, finding volume to be a struggle; even forcing the word from her lips had been a monumental effort.

"Looking for this?" The voice asked, thrusting a wand in front of her face.

Her wand.

Her wand. The wand that had chosen her. The wand that had confirmed she was in fact, part of the wizarding world. The wand that had completed her for so many years. It had earnt itself a couple of fresh scratches that would need to be repaired, and was simply covered in scuffs; but it was hers. It was hers.

"Yes!" She laughed, reaching out to grab it with both hands. Her eyes filled with delighted tears immediately, as her body burnt at the reunion. Her skin burst out in goose-bumps, as she flicked it familiarly. A bird was released from its tip as easily as breathing. It hadn't resisted her.

"Merlin you look happy." The voice continued drolly, the sad notes unmissable. She turned, her eyes meeting the silver eyes of Draco Malfoy. She gasped, feeling foolish. She should have expected this; she'd watched his parents banish him from the conversation she'd just walked past. She allowed herself a moment to look at him, truly look at him. Hermione's heart suddenly began to beat harder in her chest. He seemed taller, Hermione considered, he was wearing a suit that was mottled in dust, blood stains, and several scuffs. One impressive rip was over his knee, but it didn't diminish from his graceful stature. He stood in the hall as if he owned the school, bruises were starting to bloom on his alabaster skin, his hair was darker than usual; a light coating of dust had faded his platinum locks to sunshine like gold, contrasting with the silver pools that were his eyes.

He looked lost.

He looked terrified.

"It's my wand," She answered him dumbly. It seemed intelligent answers were also beyond what she could muster at the moment, along with appropriate volume. He looked at her expressionless, before turning away, facing his parents who were still locked in a verbal battle with Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Aurors that were flanking him seemed to be listening intently, and the chains she'd seen earlier in the hands of another Auror, ready to be put to use as restraints were casually slung over the shoulder of a scowling female Auror.

Taking the moment Draco Malfoy was immersed in his parents' struggle, Hermione pulled out the wand she had been using for the past months. Bellatrix's. She tossed the foul looking wood uncaringly onto the dead woman's chest. The moment she did so, a huge weight removed itself from her shoulders, as if the wand had been a sort of horcrux for the late Lestrange. She shuddered, relieved to be free of a wand that had felt like forcing her magic through a crude oil slick.

"You don't…" Malfoy was speaking to her again. She looked up slowly to see him looking at his aunts wand with a look of jealously she imagined he must have been wearing when he watched her be reunited with her own sliver of magically infused wood. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning his withdrawn, desperate gaze towards her properly. Hermione's breath caught in her throat for reasons she just couldn't fathom.

"You don't happen to have-"

"Your wand?" She interrupted her voice still quiet. He nodded, hope worming its way to the forefront of his expression.

"Harry gave it to Shacklebolt," she answered, as Draco looked as though he'd been caught up with Crabbe in the fiendfyre. He curled his lip, whether in anger or sadness Hermione couldn't work out.

"Lucius…" Narcissa bawled suddenly, a fresh wave of sobs released from her body. Draco spun on his heel so fast that Hermione did a double take. In front of them, Narcissa was being held not roughly, but certainly not gently either by two of the Aurors, as both Shacklebolt and the unsmiling Auror with the chains attached them to Lucius Malfoy's wrists and ankles, binding him tightly.

"Let me say good bye to my wife at least." Lucius said to Shacklebolt, a hint of disbelief colouring his tone. Kingsley looked mildly amused as the two Aurors that were holding Narcissa back took an unknown clue. The harsh faced woman took a firm grip of Lucius's forearm, her hand slowly turning snow white with the force of her hold. Narcissa had been dragged back a couple of steps as with a sharp crack, Lucius and the Auror vanished.

Narcissa wailed tears spilling onto her robes as Shacklebolt walked towards her, his wand outstretched. He tapped her three times, and a faint neon blue glow settled into her skin as if she'd applied a layer of moisturiser. He nodded to the two who had taken hold of her, and another sharp crack pierced their ears. She vanished.

Hermione looked towards Draco, her eyes wide with alarm. He'd taken half a step towards where his parents had been, his arm outstretched as if he was going to solve all the problems with his family, before he'd witness Shacklebolt tear them apart. His mouth was open, eyes unfocused, and it was the closest Hermione had ever seen him look like he was an actual person with genuine emotions.

"Mr Malfoy." Shacklebolt said sternly, closing the gap between them effortlessly despite his wounded side.

"Minister." Draco replied in the same way Hermione was managing to talk that morning.

"I assume you heard all of what just transpired?" Shacklebolt asked, barely paying attention to the fact Hermione was stood just a few feet from them.

"Some of it…" Draco began, trailing off as he began to pale. If Shacklebolt could be so cold as to separate the family without goodbyes, what was going to happen to him? Then she blinked, understanding that Shacklebolt was never cruel for the sake of cruelty. There would have been a lesson in there somewhere.

"In which case you'll be aware that your parents have begged for leniency for you. The only reason I agreed Mr Malfoy is-"

"Because of my age," Draco croaked, not meaning to interrupt.

"Exactly." Shacklebolt answered, looking Malfoy in the eyes, his unsympathetic gaze stern. "So here is your punishment. You will serve two weeks in Azkaban. I dread to think of the backlash I will receive should you not do any time there at all. Who knows, the time to contemplate may do you some good. A one million galleon fine to each Hogwarts, St. Mungo's and the Ministry, you will also make a public apology to Madam Rosmerta." If Draco Malfoy had paled before, it was nothing to what was his colour now. His skin was greying, as his eyes glazed over, a thin sheen of sweat covering him. "You will also be under a trace like your mother until you serve time in Azkaban, it will be removed when you leave. The only real issue is where to house you. You cannot stay at Azkaban, I need the space for convicted criminals, and the cells at the ministry are reserved for those on trial. I can't put you under house-arrest at home because Voldemort blew it up in a rage didn't he Mr Malfoy?" Shacklebolt asked rhetorically.

Malfoy nodded as Hermione looked at him in shock, she'd not heard that the Malfoy Manor had been destroyed, with a sickening taste in her mouth, she realised that Draco was losing just as much as she had.

"In which case, you could consider yourself lucky. You will be staying here at Hogwarts, until your two week stay in Azkaban. Plenty of eyes on you."

"Mother?" He asked quietly.

"Your mother has been placed under a trace for two years; she will also be living with her last remaining relative under house arrest for those two years while your family home is being rebuilt." Shacklebolt answered as Hermione blanched in shock.

"Andromeda!" Hermione exclaimed as both Draco and Kingsley turned to look at her.

"This is not without the consent of everyone involved Hermione," Shacklebolt said gently, she found herself nodding as Draco looked at her with curious eyes.

"My-"

"The ministry holding cells for as long as he needs to be there. Visitors are not allowed." Shacklebolt answered, correctly guessing the next line of Malfoy's inquiry.

"After Azkaban… will I be able to come back to Hogwarts?" Draco asked quietly, afraid once more.

"That will be seen to depending on your behaviour, the results of your trace, and if the new Head of Hogwarts agrees to it." Shacklebolt answered, this time sympathetically. It appeared a desire for an education he could understand and support. He tapped Draco on the shoulder with his wand quickly, and a faint blue glow settled into his skin. He shuddered, accepting the trace with a grace Hermione recognised. Placing his hand into his pocket he withdrew a familiar looking wand.

"I believe this is yours," Shacklebolt announced, offering him his wand handle first. Hermione had no doubt that it was under the same trace that he had been placed under. His long pointed fingers wrapped about the handle as a euphoric smile split across his face, and Hermione bit back another gasp as she realised it was the first real smile she had ever seen him wear. He looked carefree and… attractive.

A silver tabby cat started to slink about the ankles of Shacklebolt, its mouth opening as if to speak. Kingsley looked down, and sighed, the all too familiar expression of exhaustion slipping on to features.

"I must take my leave. Mr Malfoy, you are to sleep in your common room." Shacklebolt said in parting, turning on his heel and sweeping out the ever emptying great hall the tabby cat shimmering into nothingness as he left.

Draco turned carefully back to where Hermione stood, his wand held loosely in his elegant hand, his eyes glimmering.

"Can we go?" he asked her, clearly unaware of what he was doing, and who he was asking.

She nodded, he looked broken.

The pair of them began to walk out the hall, noting it was empty save the pair of them. They walked in silence in their broken school, heading towards the entrance hall. Together they reached the hall that led them to their respective common rooms, but the corridor to the dungeons was blocked by a sickly green puddle of... something, which was hissing and giving off some rather noxious fumes. They came to a stop, but it became apparent that it was where Malfoy intended to leave.

"People got imaginative," Malfoy said drolly as he stepped over the puddle, taking care to step around the rubble on the floor. Hermione didn't reply but was instead staring at the puddle with distaste. He gave Hermione an uneasy look, before nodding to her.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around Granger," he said awkwardly as she nodded back just as unsure of herself. He turned, walking down the hall in an odd, careful manner, and she watched him go, her heart beating wildly.


	2. Rebuild

Shacklebolt was inspecting one of the many cabinets in Dumbledore's old office, apparently searching for something, eventually, his hunt turned up successful. A pair of goblets, and a bottle of wine were raised in triumph, and Minerva gave an amused glance to the delighted looking man. Dumbledore loosed a light chuckle, the oils of his portrait sparkling with mirth.

Minerva pulled her wand out, deftly flicking her wrist as several plush armchairs thudded to the ground in front of Albus's old desk. The old song of tinkering objects had gone, replaced by absolutely nothing. The shelves had been stripped bare of Dumbledore's belongings, and Snape had apparently thought not to replace anything while he had reigned. Instead, their words of the events of the night were going to be met by silence, no background noise to drown out the harsh realities of war. Minerva sunk into one of the pieces of furniture she'd summoned, seeming to become the fabric of the chair itself as her figure relaxed into the plush velvet armchair.

"We both need it Madam," Kingsley said, a cheeky note to his voice as he placed the goblets down on the headmasters desk, tapping his wand on the neck of the bottle to release a red liquid that had no promise of pain associated with it. He poured them a goblet each, and the sound of the red wine flowing was the only noise in the office for a brief moment. Passing a goblet to Minerva, he settled himself down into the chair she had summoned for him as Albus took note they had chosen to sit the same side of his old desk. The chair the head would sit in empty, he smiled wistfully to himself, noting the unsaid mark of respect they still showed him.

"Are we clear on events yet?" Albus asked the weary pair below him, his blue eyes sharp in his face.

"Not quite, there are still things that need to be explained, but I was lucky enough to catch Mr Potter as he was heading to bed, he's explained a couple of things." Shacklebolt said, as the door to the office opened again, and Flitwick slipped in, looking just as exhausted as both of them. Minerva flicked her wand once more, and a fresh goblet of wine poured itself, floating into Filius's hand as he too sunk into one of Minerva's armchairs.

"Such as?" Dumbledore prompted after Flitwick looked settled.

"Severus has passed, Voldemort murdered him, and I've had his body recovered." Shacklebolt told them all seriously, taking a deep mouthful of wine afterwards.

"A loss to knowledge." Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard in a contemplative manner.

"Quite," Minerva agreed, taking a surprisingly large gulp of wine from her glass.

"He was a better man than we gave him credit for, even if he was a total bastard." Shacklebolt seemed to agree, nodding his head in sympathy as Flitwick spat out a mouthful of wine.

"So there is nothing that can be done to save Severus then?" Flitwick asked suddenly, swilling his wine about in his goblet as he watched it.

"I don't think so Filius, Mr Potter seemed certain of his passing," Shacklebolt answered quietly, far more respectfully than he had spoken of him moments before. Flitwick sighed heavily, as Minerva draped her head in her hands.

"I never imagined he would die in all of this," she sighed, seeming hopeless to the situation. It was a death that had shaken her solidly. Flitwick echoed her sigh, his entire tiny stature seeming to grow and shrink with the action.

"I suppose we ought to put his portrait up then?" Flitwick asked, looking to Minerva with an air of resignation.

"We can't," Minerva replied, surprised; "the only portraits that go on these walls are the Head's that were appointed by the governors, Snape wasn't voted in. I know the Death Eaters made him have a portrait made, but that was because they thought they would have permanent involvement in the school."

"Hang him in the potions classroom then," Flitwick said offhandedly, "It fits; one of the best potions masters the school has ever had where he belongs, and it always helps to have another set of eyes in a room that know what they're on about."

"I personally like the idea of hanging Severus up in the Potions classroom. A lovely touch, though, I'm sure he'd prefer it if it were in the Defence Against the Dark Arts room." Dumbledore added twirling his thumbs about one another as his blue eyes sparkled with mirth. Minerva rolled her eyes back so far in her head Shacklebolt thought she'd fainted for the briefest of instants.

"I don't think so." She replied as Filius gave a wry chuckle. Minerva took another sip of her wine, giving the gathered group a serious glance. "I suppose we must become realistic now. The school has taken damage-"

"As has the ministry," Shacklebolt input, earning himself a serious nod from Minerva.

"We must discuss the minutiae," she said, the mantle of responsibility had returned to her shoulders unnoticed by her, as Dumbledore stifled a concerned twist of his mouth.

"The minutiae that are not very minute," Kingsley chuckled wryly, taking another sip of his wine. "As temporary Minister for Magic, I will write to the Wizengamot and ask them for a fast decision on a permanent one, and as we were alerted to the passing of Severus by Mr Potter, we need a new Head of Hogwarts, so again, I shall urge the quick appointment of a new Head." Shacklebolt informed them, pulling out his wand and summoning parchment, ink and a rather majestic quill to him.

He set to writing immediately, as Filius and Minerva exchanged glances.

"The admissions book," They said in unison. Minerva nodded as Filius gulped down the rest of his wine.

"I'll do it, then I'll put Severus's portrait up. I'm then off to bed." He announced as Minerva looked at him seriously.

"You're then taking two weeks off for whatever you need to do. I'd suggest rest," Minerva smiled, as Filius placed his feet on the ground again, dusting himself off.

"I'll see you in two weeks then Minerva." He acknowledged, looking respectfully at her. They shared a smile, as Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly.

"It's the first, if not the most important step in repairing the school Albus," Minerva started, "Earlier in the year Filius and I secretly placed a ward on the admissions book to the school. We wanted to stop any new students, muggle born or not from attending Hogwarts. We had planned to make sure the other schools were able to take them. The moment the war looked as if it would be lasting longer than a year we did it. The idea of a new wave of muggleborn children getting the impression they are unwanted in our world was…" she trailed off for a moment, clearing her throat as her eyes filled with tears, "It was hideous to the both of us. We have to do anything to protect the children and that was one of them."

"I never gave you enough credit," Albus muttered as Shacklebolt finished his letters. With a swirl of his wand they duplicated and vanished, no doubt starting to harass the recipients already. "You most definitely did the right thing." He assured her, his face strong and compassionate. "It does also bring up the subject of repairing the school; the world will need something normal to look forward to. What is more normal than school?" He asked, a spark of amusement glittering in the depths of his eyes.

"You are right, and Hogwarts will be repaired, but we just don't know how. Hogwarts isn't a normal school. The wards were centuries old. It isn't just a case of casting 'repairo', and being done with it."

"There is always a way Minerva," soothed Dumbledore.

"I'm sure the Ministry will have records on the wards of Hogwarts. Anything you need I will make sure you'll have." Kingsley said as he re-joined the conversation, the two important letters now dealt with.

"Thank you," Minerva smiled, flicking her wand. Her silver tabby cat burst from its tip, streaking out the room as if chasing something. "I've sent it to Pomona, Poppy and Aurora, they can make a list of all the things that are damaged, destroyed, in need of repair or restocking; and I told them about the mandatory two week holiday, longer if they need medical attention."

"Smart," Shacklebolt agreed. Minerva's wand burst to life once more as another tabby cat ran past them all.

"That's to Hagrid; he's to tell the house-elves to take a two week break to seek medical attention and rest before getting back to work to help clean this place. I doubt it will do any of them any good to clean up…"

"Corpses?" Shacklebolt offered, sensing where her thoughts were going. Minerva nodded, taking another sip of wine.

"I think Hagrid will likely take the two week break, I doubt he will be in a good state of mind after the night's happenings." Shacklebolt said seriously.

"I agree, seeing Mr Potter as a dead man and well… Hagrid has never been one to kill, but I most definitely saw him throw a grown man across the hall and hit the wall head first… I'm not entirely sure how he'll feel about that."

Albus, Minerva and Kingsley were quiet a moment, taking in the actions they'd seen carried out or simply heard about with a melancholy.

"A lot was asked of all of you, but you must remember you live to make the world better again," Albus encouraged them, sensing the pair below him sinking into a despair often difficult to claw a way back out of.

"Of course, of course," Minerva sighed, waving away his encouragement as if he were patronising.

"Reminds me, if I am made minister I must meet with the centaurs, goblins and house-elves, I believe it would be a good idea to at least take baby steps in the right direction. We oppress too much." Shacklebolt mused aloud as Dumbledore looked as if he could burst with pride.

Silence met his declaration, but no one opposed him either, instead, it seemed as if he had simply voiced what everyone was thinking. It was no time for the old behaviours. Too much had that cost.

"Have you told Mr Malfoy he is to remain here at Hogwarts for the summer?" Minerva asked, as she looked troubled at the idea.

"Yes, I did earlier; Miss Granger was with him much to my surprise." Kingsley said as an eyebrow rose beyond Minerva's hairline. "I must say, your idea to keep him here was an excellent one, I do appreciate the help you've given me." He finished, raising his half empty wine glass to her in a salute.

"At the time it seemed like it was a good plan," She sighed, waving away his toast with a lazy roll of her wrist.

"I believe it still is," Dumbledore interjected, watching the pair of them with sharp eyes, his fingers entwining about one another.

"Is it? Truly? Albus, you were the only one who saw any good in him." Minerva sighed, rubbing her temple with the hand that had waved praise away not moments ago.

"Of course, tell me Minerva, what better for a boy who has been indoctrinated in hate to see than the real damage of a war. He will be here to see all the casualties removed, he will be here to see you all meet with the Weasley family and others, and conduct meetings involving the set-up of a new wizarding world that; if he is smart and I think he is, he'll recognise he'll have no place in unless he changes his world view." Albus spoke gently as Minerva began to chug her wine as if the world were running out.

"I suppose I can set him to work," she debated.

"I'd recommend it actually; he's asked if it'll be possible for him to return to Hogwarts after he does his time in Azkaban, and setting him to work about the castle will be a good way of testing him." Kingsley said pointedly, refilling Minerva's wine glass as if he hadn't just watched her throw it down her throat.

"Has he now."

"You can't expect him to be the only one wanting to return to Hogwarts?" Kingsley asked her a little shocked, "after all, we've just had a war, and I think it would be natural for many students to wish to return to school, to something that is normal for them. After all, I said it before, what is more normal than school?"

"Kingsley," Minerva admonished, "Of course I expect there to be many wanting to come back to school. Mr Malfoy I will admit was a surprise, but then… he was intelligent academically at least. I imagine school could be very healing to those who want it. If I am made the head of Hogwarts I will make sure that the school is here for anyone who needs it. I'm also am making it optional to return for the N.E.W.T years, but fifth year and below must be repeated. What the children received last year was not an education." She said fiercely, and a smattering of applause and agreeing nods came from the portraits above.

"If you need any help from the ministry in creating the extra accommodation for eighth year students, do let me know, I'll do my best." Shacklebolt smiled warmly at her, as Minerva nodded smiled weakly in response.

"So much bloody work to do because one man…" She trailed off, shaking her head in dismay, as Kingsley chuckled darkly.

"At least people will actually work, wanting to get things back to normal, it's the press I'm worried about more than anything else." Kingsley admitted as Minerva looked mildly amused.

"The press?"

"Well, I can imagine they will be very interested in Harry, Ron and Hermione now, not to mention whomever they may become romantically interested in. Hogwarts is also the school that many of them earned their education at, and I've just locked up who could be considered the most eligible bad boy of the British wizarding world." Kingsley said drily as Minerva spluttered into her goblet.

"Oh Merlin," Minerva gasped, "we'll need to get the wards fixed as soon as possible," she withdrew her wand, as if she were going to preform intense magic with barely any sleep.

"But not right now," Albus said sensing the weariness of the pair of them below him. "Sort it out tomorrow when you speak with the Weasley family and Miss Granger, you both have plans to ask them to help you sort your worlds out, and I doubt they will say no. You have time enough ahead. Go, summon healers, go to sleep. Return here in the morning." He ordered them, inwardly amused at their stubborn dedication to put the world to rights immediately.

"I suppose you're right," Minerva agreed, catching sight of her bloodstained wrist. Kingsley just grunted, as a lynx burst from the tip of his wand.

"To the hospital wing for the pair of us, I've just sent for a healer or two, or whomever they can spare to see to the both of us." Kingsley offered his arm to her, a warm smile across his war torn features.

"Oh you're right, you're both right," Minerva sighed, "the world can wait just one more day."


	3. Morning

The morning cracked in a sudden burst of light through the window, throwing golden streams of light with no avail over Hermione's face. Her scarlet sheets crumpled with her movement as her hand slid underneath her pillow and around her wand. The next moment she was sitting up, panting, brown eyes wide and searching; wand aimed at the door. She blinked several times, before groaning, and slipping back into the headboard of her long lost Gryffindor bed. It was like an old friend to her, warm, inviting, and soft. There was something odd and unnatural to it now. The year spent in a tent on the run had made her body used to hard surfaces and pain. The welcoming warmth of the feathers in her blanket made her slightly suspicious to her whereabouts until her brain caught up with her.

Hogwarts.

Home.

She smiled, a tear slipping down her face; she reached up to wipe it away, turning to look out the window. The sun was still rising, as she hadn't thought to pull the curtains closed the night before, exhaustion running wild through her, it was no wonder she was rising so early now. A clock on her bedside table told her the time was five thirty am, and she snorted at the knowledge. She'd slept through the entire day of yesterday, and the night too. A thought niggled at the back of her mind; she doubted she was the only one to have done so, Harry especially.

Hermione pulled the blanket off her, swinging her legs out of the bed slowly, movement was tricky all of a sudden, but then she doubted she'd moved much at all in her sleep. It was the first stress free sleep she'd had in years, no overhanging threat of Voldemort and death because of her heritage looming over her; the adult version of her boogey man. Her feet hit the carpets beneath her, heavier than she would have liked, her toes cracking a little at the impact. She winced, reaching up high to stretch out.

The sunlight that had slipped in through the window caught her eyes as it shivered over the mirror, and she caught a look at herself for the first time in a long while. Hermione grunted, unimpressed. She'd need to have a wash. A true wash. She'd make a good use of one of the schools many bathrooms and enjoy it for there was no one calling for her to hurry up, to get out, and to possibly wash her hair faster as they needed to move locations about twenty minutes ago.

Hygiene on the run had not been a high point of the previous year. Bathing in ice cold lakes, rivers, and using the odd scourigify had done very little to actually remove the layer of filth that had made itself at home upon her being. Not to mention she'd hardly thought about hair removal products and the like. She'd obviously packed a few razors, but they'd been used up faster than she'd anticipated.

She pulled off the clothes she'd been wearing, noting she'd not thought to change from the night before. Evidence of her exhaustion plain for all to see, and checked the pockets, making sure they were empty. They were. Hermione casually tossed them all in the bin. It wasn't just her that was dirty. Being unable to adequately wash clothes had also added to the dirt she'd lived in. She'd replace them and everything else in that little purple sequined bag that belonged to her as soon as she possibly could. She shuddered at the thought of having to wear anything from that bag again, as she picked up her hair brush and towels from the hooks they hung on, opening to the door to the seventh year bathroom.

The room was small, but with room for a toilet, a sink, and a bath large enough for five people to use it at once, complete with a shower. A floor length mirror greeted her with the sight of her body.

A sigh escaped her before she could help it.

The state of her physical being was poor.

Her extended camping trip with Harry and Ron had meant eating food had almost become a luxury, added with the stress of finding horcruxes and escaping snatchers, she'd shrivelled almost to nothing. Where once her breasts had been full, they now showed her weight loss the most. The tops of her ribs showed, along with her collarbone. Her cheeks were gaunt where colour had once filled them, but her entirety was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. Thankfully, the burns could have been worse, she noted, but an unexpected plunge in to the water had helped quell the fire somewhat. The gash on her arm, gifted to her by Bellatrix Lestrange as she'd mauled her, was caked in blood, sweat and soil. Hermione's vanity, whilst little was still present and her shoulders fell as she took in her hair properly for the first time. It has always shone, her frizzy chestnut mane had always had some reflective properties, but now it was duller than mud, and clearly tangled. Along with the dark circles under her eyes, despite the day full of sleep she'd just endured, Hermione was a wreck.

She sighed once more, dropping the towels on the surface next to the sink, and walking over to the taps, turning three of them on. The water began to fill the tub, quietly considering she'd turned it on full and the volume of water was abnormally large given the size of the faucet. The second was a plain soap, completely unscented, but over the years Hermione had learnt it was the strongest soap, able to remove tar if it wanted, she imagined. The third, her favourite perfume, vanilla scented bubbles. She turned the second tap off after a moment, following it up with the third as she picked up her hair brush, dipping her toes in to the hot water. She'd have to ease into this bath.

As the water began to lap at her ankles, Hermione began to attack her hair, smiling dully. She was in for a long, long fight again, but a different kind of battle, one to make her look presentable and healthy again.

:: :: ::

Several hours later, Hermione emerged, her hair dry and tied up in a messy bun upon her head. Her skin was red, flushed with the rush of blood due to the heat and the intensity of her scrubbing. Her body, whilst still covered in her injuries, looked fresher, healthier, as if the layer of dirt had been hiding her from the rest of the world. Her war wound, however, was bleeding. Hermione had been forced to scrub at it the hardest, desperate to get the grime out of it, but the filth had clung to it, as if it were enchanted there; but Hermione needed it to heal, and cleaning it was part of it.

The pain had made her vomit, and it had burned her bones with each rub of the flannel, but she'd done it. In the back of her mind Hermione had acknowledged she should see a healer about it, but shame had flared up within her. She was Hermione Granger, a Heroine of the second Wizarding War. Something about getting medical help for herself seemed like admitting she wasn't really a heroine, even though the idea of that title made her feel nauseous. She'd done what she'd hoped anyone would do when they learnt their best friend was the marked nemesis of a Dark Wizard. Help.

She'd go to a healer later however, one look in the mirror told her she needed too.

She finished drying herself off, and pulled on her Gryffindor pyjamas, unwilling to wear any of her own clothes unless forced. Her stomach gave a heavy rumble, and she smiled grimly, forcing her feet in to a pair of slippers, and standing up, readying herself to leave. Food was most definitely necessary.

Grabbing at her dressing gown, she left her dormitory, sauntering down the stairs to the common room that was, blessedly, still in one piece. It looked undisturbed from the days before, as though there hadn't been a war fought just the other side of the wall. Newspapers lay on the tables, with pictures and half played chess sets. Sweets were scattered across the chairs and floor, whilst blankets were draped over the arm rests or the chairs backs. It was though comfort had been sought out by all, at every available opportunity. The common room looked lived in, more so than usual, pillows that usually resided in the dormitories were found nestled into every available nook and cranny, and now she really looked at the layout of the room, the placement of the furniture saddened her. All the chairs had their backs to the portrait hole, a bookcase had switched its position from by a window to right next to the entrance, it was oddly empty, nothing placed upon it, but the tell-tale scratches on one side of it told Hermione all she needed to know. The layout was a defensive one, the high backed chairs allowing for cover, whilst wands could be aimed over the top. The bookcase a quick diversion to bar people from entering as fast as they could, the tables in positions that could be easily flipped to provide another quick bit of defence from either the portrait hole, or to cover the retreat to the dormitories. As she looked towards the stairs she'd just come down, she noticed a broomstick, Hermione sighed. Of course there would be brooms. When worst came to worst, escape from the tower via the windows with a broom would be the only logical action. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed in deeply to steady herself, a mixture of pride and despair welling up in the depths of her being. This was Gryffindor bravery at its finest, but the despair lingered, she doubted any of the other houses had had to do this. Slytherin; least of all.

A footstep on the top of the stairs from the opposite dorm made her jump, and once more, her wand was in her hand; aimed and ready at whomever it was, logic lost. A shock of ebony hair stumbled into view, followed by a lanky body that was mottled in bruises, cuts, and one very obvious scar.

"Hermione," He said, grinning deliriously at her before walking down to meet her.

"Harry," She grinned, putting her wand away. His embrace swallowed her up before she could do anything else, his guttural, joyful laughter bursting from him was infectious, and she was helpless to do anything else but join in. They laughed as they held each other, delight fluttering like butterflies about the room as the released one another.

"I'm starving, was going to get something to eat, you gunna join me?"

"It's the exact same reason I'm up Harry, I think the kitchens should be free so we can make ourselves something, if they're in one piece of course..." she trailed off, lost in thought as Harry led her to the portrait hole. The walk went quietly between them, as if everything they had to say to one another had been said already. A quiet understanding had settled between them properly, finally. It had always been there Hermione thought, the acknowledgement that whilst they were both only children they were the siblings the other had never had; finally, with a war over it had cemented itself over them, binding them together for life.

"Did Ginny find you?" Hermione found herself saying as they stepped over a pile of stone that had come from one of the classroom walls, a crimson smear leading up to it.

"Yeah, she spent a couple of hours with me, but said she needed to go home, obviously with everything that happened I didn't hold it against her; she said she'd see me today anyway." Harry replied, as Hermione smiled broadly, noticing the way Harry's eyes glittered with delight when he spoke of her.

"Makes sense, the Weasleys do like to stick together."

"Speaking of Weasleys, you and Ron?"

"No actually… I mean; I know everyone was expecting it, but… no." Hermione sighed as Harry's eyebrows rose so high they were lost to his hairline.

"But, after-"

"Us kissing or my sobbing in a tent for the best part of a year? Or everything before it?" Hermione replied as Harry gave her a quizzical, yet expectant expression. "When Voldemort died I realised I had been holding onto the idea of Ron as my boyfriend, because, oh Merlin this will sound terrible; but he was _there_. He wasn't as repulsive as boys like McLaggen, he was able to tolerate my intellect in ways that others weren't able, and it began to feel like it should be us two. Me and Ron, you and Ginny; forever. Then of course, we won, and that whole idea, everything just shattered for me. Harry, really, think about it. Ron and I good together? Tell me a common interest we both share, something we can bond over. Does he really intellectually stimulate me? Is he as driven as I am? Merlin knows I love Ron Harry, but... not the way everyone expects me to. He's not quite a brother like you are to me, but he's still dreadfully important. After everything... after the war... I can't risk losing another friend after we get together and then split over something stupid a few years down the line. I mean, Ron and I fight every waking moment almost. Think about how much we'd lose if something went wrong. I'd lose the Weasley family, because we all know they stick together. I'd lose my Wizarding family. I'd make the friendship between you and I awkward if Ron and I were together and broke up... it's too much of a risk, just for people's expectations. Ron is too important to me, and he needs to be with someone who loves him for who he is. Don't get me wrong Harry; I love you both in very different ways, but him and me together? I can't. We can't. I…" She broke off, unsure of what she was saying anymore, and hyper aware of Harry's eyes watching her carefully as they stepped over a still foaming puddle of something. The thought of his abandonment flickered to life and a sharp anger and pain fired through her. She wouldn't mention that however, she couldn't blame Ron for how the horcrux took a hold of him, but it hadn't done it to her. She'd been able to resist. It was something Hermione found herself unable to let go of despite what her mind was telling her.

"So what have you told Ron?" Harry asked carefully, still watching her sharply, but not cruelly.

"Nothing yet, we haven't even spoken since everything stopped, since we kissed. We weren't together, aren't together, and won't be together. I really prefer us as friends. We'll be better off as friends and nothing else."

"You sound like you're persuading yourself," Harry commented drily, as Hermione twisted her lips with concern.

"No, I'm not, I think It's just… I think I'm confused. I think I knew I was always seeking Ron because he was the easiest source of affection. I'm not that popular with boys, they get intimidated the moment I open my mouth, or I'm too bossy, or something. You were always off limits for reasons I said earlier, and I guess I knew that when we all risked being murdered for just being involved with you-" Harry winced noticeably and Hermione cringed, "Sorry, but you know what I meant, anyway, Ron was the easiest, and the more logical choice. Only, I don't know how Ron feels. Does he really love me that way, or is it how I feel, like we're just playing into everyone's expectations."

"I think, whatever happens, you're both going to be in my life forever." Harry said by way of approval and understanding.

"I know, thanks," Hermione whispered, taking hold of his hand and giving it a brief squeeze.

Old habits ran strong, and before they knew it, they were standing at the entrance of the Great Hall, and not at the portrait that held a particularly ticklish pear. Thankfully, the powerful smell of bacon and coffee wafted through the doors, and relief was mirrored on both of their faces. They entered, to find an almost familiar sight. The bodies and injured had been completely taken, but instead of the five standard tables, one for each house and the head table for the teachers, just one lone table remained, the teachers table. A few people were sitting, happily eating and talking quietly to one another, Minerva McGonagall sat tellingly in the heads chair, whilst Kingsley Shacklebolt at her right. Many of blooms of red hair were next to Kingsley, whilst a blonde head was as far away from them as they could possibly be.

"I forgot you said Malfoy was still here under house-arrest." Harry said; referring to the brief conversation they'd shared in the common room before falling into their respective beds. He seemed to speak her thoughts aloud, but a ponderous expression was crafting itself over his features.

"He doesn't look... well," Hermione considered, taking in the way he stared at the ceiling with an absent gleam to his eyes, an empty goblet casually hanging in his hand. Harry grunted, as if he'd already spared Malfoy more thought than what was right for him to do that day, and settled himself in next to Ginny, smiling at her brightly. Hermione sat herself opposite Ron, eyeing up a plate of croissants with a famished rumble of her stomach.

"You'll never guess what." Ron greeted Hermione, and she noted the pale tell-tale signs of shock in Ron's skin, the wide dazed glimmer in his eyes, and the way he didn't know how to compose himself.

"What?" She asked, staring at him suspiciously, her recent conversation with Harry still bright in her mind.

"We're getting a ministry pay out." Ron said, as if he still couldn't quite believe it himself. "All of us, fifty thousand galleons each. Mum, Dad, Ginny… all my family save Percy because of the abandonment thing, and Charlie obviously because he was never in the country, but all of us, Bill, Fleur, George…" the unspoken name hung in the air, heavy and difficult to ignore. Ron took a deep draught of pumpkin juice, his ears colouring red slightly. "They're all getting ten thousand, but… Hermione…" He breathed his eyes wide with disbelief. "I'm rich. My family… we're rich. You're rich! Harry…" He waved his hand away to dismiss Harry's wealth, a wealth he'd barely touched. "I'm going to be ok Hermione. I've got a great job, money for the first time in my life, and no bloody Voldemort to ruin things." He laughed, and reached for another bread roll to stuff with the various fillings decorating the table.

"You're welcome," came the sarcastic call from the end of the table, as Draco filled up his goblet with orange juice. Shacklebolt looked mildly amused at the declaration, and raised his eyebrows at Hermione, as if confirming that the money did in fact come from his fine. Ron however had picked up another bread roll, and had thrown it as hard as he could at Malfoy, hoping to hit him with it. Malfoy deftly caught it, and raised it in a gesture of thanks, taking a bite out of it; his familiar smirk blooming across his features.

Hermione had been loading her plate, but the interaction from Malfoy had amused her, and now her thoughts had become a jumbled mess. She hadn't expected anything from anyone for doing what she'd done. She'd only followed Harry because he was Harry, stupid and noble for expecting to do everything alone. A massive monetary pay out had been something she'd never had expected in her wildest dreams. Fifty thousand galleons was enough money that she wouldn't have to worry too much in the coming years for cash, if she wanted a part time job for a couple of years she could. All that money for what she considered common sense and decency. Her mind reeled.

"Miss Granger!" A sharp, concerned voice snapped into her ears. She jumped, and turned to face a worried looking McGonagall, "have you heard anything I just said?" Hermione blushed and shook her head no, and earned herself the very rare pleasure of McGonagall's chuckle.

"I was just saying that I have been appointed the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and as such have had to make a few decisions already, one of which is that I will not be appointing the Head Girl and Boy of Hogwarts from your year; which would in fact be the eighth. I have to consider fairness, and technically your year had its chance. I was making sure this would not be to disappointing to you Miss Granger." Hermione stared open mouthed at her new Headmistress dumbly.

"Congratulations!" She exclaimed, a bright smile breaking over her face, "but why would I be disappointed at your decision?" She asked as Ginny released a chuckle beside her.

"Surely you would have thought you would be the most logical option to have as a head girl," McGonagall answered, clearly amused.

"Oh!"

"Indeed, so I was attempting to break the news to you kindly," she smiled, as Hermione returned it warmly.

"No, it's a kind thought, but I am most definitely not disappointed. I'm just happy to be able to return to school at all." McGonagall smiled one last smile at her, before her attention was taken away by an owl dropping a large roll of parchment into her porridge. Hermione grinned looking away, the feeling of pride at her would be being head girl filled her with joy, and it settled at the base of her spine, warming its way up her back.

"Have they elected a new Minister?" Hermione suddenly asked nobody in particular whilst she poured herself a glass of orange juice, and reaching for a banana from a nearby fruit bowl.

"Yeah, it was unanimous apparently, and really quick, the Ministry must be in a bad shape to get a new Minister this fast. Thicknesse only handed in his resignation yesterday; after everything finished. Said he couldn't be a minister when he wasn't voted in and the whole Death Eater trial…" Ginny seemed to ramble I response, almost more focused on heaping her plate with bacon than anything else. Hermione half smiled at the Weasley trait, impatience blossoming on her insides.

"So… who is it?" Hermione asked Ginny eventually, holding back a snort of laughter as Ginny's brown eyes widened in surprise and realisation.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I'm just so distracted today," Ginny apologised, gesturing her hand in the direction of Kingsley, "It's Shacklebolt, who better than the fair head of the Auror department that actually gets stuff done?" She deadpanned, and Hermione saw the truth in her words as she looked at Shacklebolt who was talking to Ron and Harry in urgent clipped tones. Ginny caught her eyes again, and smiled, before taking another bite of sausage.

"Oh yeah, and that reminds me, we have a new defence teacher, Dawlish. Apparently he sent an owl to Kingsley last night saying no more field work, put him on a desk. So he was sent to Hogwarts instead." Ginny told Hermione, topping up both their drinks.

"You know, that's not that bad actually, of all the people to have. At least he's been an auror, and under Shacklebolt we should have Ministry permission for practical lessons." Hermione said to Ginny's guffaw of glee. The pair ate in amicable silence; both savouring the time in which they could simply relax and eat. The friends seemed to have an unspoken agreement about all that lingered over their heads, the upcoming funerals, the work that would have to be done to rebuild the school in earnest, and the wounded physical and mental states of them both. Almost as if Ginny had read her mind she broke their quiet conversation break.

"I need to go shopping, I have money now."

"I'll come, I have nothing that isn't beyond repair, covered in stains, or stinking beyond all polite levels of odour." Hermione replied in a business like fashion as Ginny wrinkled her nose.

"There are polite levels of odour?" Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ginny, as the red head snorted with laughter.

"I'll get Harry and Ron to come too, when was the last time you saw Harry in clothes that actually fit him?" Ginny dropped her fork as her mind wandered to times of the past, and tried in vain to think of times he was in clothes that were actually his size. A blush crept over her cheeks, and she turned her eyes to Hermione with a devilish grin.

"His Quidditch uniform." She said, a hint of triumph and lust burning behind her brown eyed gaze. Hermione just sighed and rolled her eyes once more, a smile creeping onto the corners of her mouth.

A fresh crop of owls swooped in to the hall, dropping letters of the same size and shape onto the plates of five of them, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and too all of their surprises, Malfoy. Ron had tossed his to the side, clearly irritated it had burst the yolk of his egg and not him, and paid it no attention. Harry had begun to open it not noticing the logo on the envelope that had caused both Ginny and Malfoy to groan with sheer annoyance.

"Merlin," Ginny growled, ripping the envelope open with distaste, "what do Witch Weekly want."

"An interview." Harry answered her looking like he'd rather spend a week in a one star hotel with several of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"Well that's a no." Ginny announced, carelessly dropping her letter to the side of her plate and picking up her knife and fork once more.

"I wouldn't be so fast to say no Miss Weasley," Shacklebolt said seriously, as Molly Weasley looked up at them with a serious expression on her pale, drawn features.

"Why not?" Ron asked sounding repulsed at the idea of an interview.

"Need I remind you what the press was like towards Harry and Hermione a few years ago, during the tri-wizard tournament?" He asked them, his brows raised in a show of feigned disbelief. Malfoy had tucked his letter into his robes, and was pretending like he wasn't listening intently to the conversation a few seats away from him.

"Awful," Hermione shivered, all to reminded of the times she'd spent in the hospital wing thanks to the kind gift of bubotuber pus sent to her from the women of the wizarding world.

"Exactly," Shacklebolt said, as both Molly and Malfoy coloured a little, both out of guilt Hermione hoped as the pair of them had had a part to play in her poor treatment. "This event was even bigger than the Tri-wizard tournament. It has quite literally changed the lives of people, and they're going to want answers. Now, I know the Daily Prophet is going to find the Death Eater trials a far more interesting topic to cover, with most likely a mention of what is happening with you all on just a page, but Witch Weekly is going to want to focus on the main players of the war. Mainly because it's a gossip rag, but that is beside the point," Shacklebolt said as Molly flushed a further shade of pink making her look healthy for the first time since Hermione had seen her that morning, and Ginny threw her mother a cheeky glance. "If you don't give them answers, they will make them up; assume you've something to hide, anything, all because you essentially gave them reason to." Shacklebolt warned them as the five of them that had received letters all looked like they'd been told to insert sharp prickly objects into one of their uncomfortable orifices.

"But why," Hermione sighed, looking at her still unopened envelope. Molly coughed, looking shame faced, but sure of herself.

"The answer is simple really Hermione dear," She began, her voice wavering, and embarrassment shimmering to the surface of her expression. "Magazines like Witch Weekly are essentially escapism. For those who read them, and yes, I'll admit I'm one of them; they've spent all day cleaning or looking after youngsters or running about on errands; or a whole manner of different activities so that when they have a break they want to pick something up and read about something completely mindless that isn't anything to do with them. For some it's just entertainment, a different form of it no less, but entertainment all the same. After an event like this, what is going to be more entertaining than reading about the love lives of the teenagers that saved them all?" Molly said earnestly, as Ron looked at her agape. Malfoy was looking more and more uncomfortable as the conversation went on, and Hermione looked at him sympathetically.

"I don't want to be someone else's entertainment," Hermione sighed a little petulantly, and Molly looked at her sadly, understanding her completely.

"I don't blame you, but you don't have that choice. When you made friends with Harry, that was it for you, no matter what you did the longer you associated with him, the more people were going to want to know about you. Then you went and helped bring down one of the worst Dark Wizards of all time…" She trailed off, shrugging slightly.

"Sorry." Harry insincerely apologised, giving her a lopsided grin to alleviate the tension that had slowly started to build up.

"Oh sure," Hermione replied sarcastically, grinning back at him as Ginny smirked at the pair of them.

"What does Witch Weekly actually want from you all, I'll see if I can help," Shacklebolt offered kindly, sensing rightly that they were all rather upset about the demand for information about their love lives. Hermione opened her letter finally, as Ginny scanned hers, her lip curling in disgust. Malfoy had pulled his own letter out, his expression unreadable as Ron and Harry seemed confused.

"Inane questions." Ginny announced, "They want to know my skin care routine, and the name of my pets. Oh, also about my relationship with Harry of course."

"Mine Is roughly the same, they want to know nothing about what happened last year, but which boy am I going to end up with, and how do I keep my nails looking pretty." Hermione said thunder struck.

"Here is my advice then," Shacklebolt began seriously, "answer them. If you don't have skin care routines or whatever it was they care about, make one up, but be sensible about it. Tell them what you want people to know about your relationships. You don't have to answer everything. No comment is an acceptable answer. If it makes you feel any better I will write to them and say taking anything you have written to them, said to them or even implied to them and taking it out of context will be a criminal offence should you want it of me."

Hermione had begun nodding without even realising it. The last thing she wanted was to find herself having to seek medical attention because of gifts people had chosen to send her again, she knew the brutality of the press better than many, save perhaps Harry. Shacklebolt had clearly noticed her wish for his intervention and had summoned writing tools to him immediately.

"Duplicate your letters then if you please, so I have a copy for reference." Shacklebolt asked, and Ginny pulled out her wand in compliance. Malfoy had put his away once again, not expecting to be included in the generous gift of the Minster of Magic's intervention; his fall from grace not lost on him. "You too Mr Malfoy, the doubling charm wont set off your trace unless you wish to make it worse." Shacklebolt said sharply, taking the identical copy of Ron's letter from his tomato sauce stained hand. Draco looked as though he'd been slapped, and he nodded dumbly, tapping his letter and handing the copy of it over to Shacklebolt with a slight tremble.

"Hang on," said Ron, "why did he get a letter too?" he exclaimed, almost in protest.

"Because he's a Malfoy dumbass," Ginny retorted, "He's the only son of one of the most famous pureblood families who took an almighty tumble from the highest echelons of society. He's-"

"Attractive," Hermione found herself saying unknowingly, earning herself an alarmed splutter from Ron and a shocked glance from Malfoy. She blushed, and set to dribbling honey on a fresh bowl of yoghurt, doing her best to ignore the curious glance from Ginny.

"Rich," Ginny continued, "and fought on the other side of the battle until the very last moment. Of course people are going to want to know about Malfoy, he's going to be the most unpredictable one to watch."

Draco looked as though he'd like to vanish into obscurity, although his eyes were transfixed to Hermione who continued to pointedly look at her yoghurt as if it were the most interesting bowl in the world.

"You're forgetting," Molly spoke up once more, "the love lives of five attractive teenagers are going to be something that people are going to want to follow, especially after so many families have been-" She stopped abruptly as tears began to swell up in her eyes, her cheeks reddening once again.

"You're right," Hermione said gently, reaching over to rub Molly affectionately on her back. Molly was doing her best to regain her composure, apparently deciding that she wouldn't cry until a later time, or that she'd simply sobbed enough that day already. Hermione didn't mind how many tears Molly shed, she hardly blamed her.

"Urgh," Harry groaned suddenly, "this is going to be a nightmare, having to answer stupid questions about my life with no option to endure it else it'll get worse." He rubbed at his scar absent mindedly, as Ginny laughed at his grief.

"Well, you'll just have to come shopping with Hermione and I to forget about it then won't you." Ginny said briskly, and Harry flicked his emerald gaze over her, realising it was a battle he wouldn't win if he fought.

"Muggle shopping, I'm not dealing with the Wizarding World yet." He sighed, and a drop of dread sunk into Hermione's throat, pooling in her stomach, an acid tang flooding her veins. She'd been kidding herself thinking that everything was easy. She'd been hiding at Hogwarts, with invitations to the Burrow. She was safe from prying eyes, and people wanting to know why she'd gone on the run with Harry. Thoughts of her fourth year burst to life once more, and she wrung her hands with the memory of it all.

"You'll be tailed by aurors," Shacklebolt told them pointedly, "and you'll disguise your appearance." Ginny nodded in agreement; clearly uncaring as to how she'd be going shopping, just as long as she was.

"Of course," Hermione replied, feeling somewhat comforted by the idea of it, the moment the words had left her mouth. "Tomorrow then, we all go shopping, I have stuff I need to do today, like empty out my bag and see a healer." She said, making to leave the table. The boys nodded, and Ron looked confused, a rasher of bacon hanging in suspense between his plate and mouth.

"Why do I have to come?" he asked indignantly, "Harry I get, I mean, when his clothes ever fit, but me?"

"Oh Ron, like all your hand me downs fit you perfectly," Ginny said before Hermione managed to squeeze a word in, "Besides, wouldn't you want some nice, relaxing time with Hermione?" She finished an alluring gleam to her words. Ron flushed red, his cornflower blue eyes looking her over in a way Hermione wasn't quite comfortable. Her face twisted slightly as she looked to Ginny, who didn't seem to realise what she'd said.

Hermione stood up, her empty bowl of yoghurt vanishing as it was clear she had decided to leave them all, and she picked up her letter apprehensively.

"I'll see you all later, I've things to do," she smiled, giving them all a parting wave, and left feeling the curious gaze of Draco Malfoy burning into her back.


	4. Refresh

Madam Pomfrey looked up warmly, several cauldrons bubbling on a desk beneath her nose, various fumes of different colours giving her an odd sort of halo. The hospital wing had not been held as a sanctuary throughout the war. The beds had been stripped of their sheets, all save one which appeared to have been made up especially for anyone who may come in after the main fray. The rest of them were either fallen on their sides, or broken in several varying ways. Hermione eyed one of them in awe, as its legs were twisted upwards, the ends sharp points. Shattered vials of potions were left, smashed upon the floor, residues leaving interesting coloured stains upon the stone.

"Miss Granger! Can I-"

"No I don't…" Hermione started remembering the usually solemn woman sobbing in the great hall, as bodies were taken past her, a potion pressed into her hands. She began to back away, holding the door open for her to slip back out of. Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed at her, a stern expression drafted into action. Hermione felt a blush rise immediately, the shame she'd felt when bathing returning.

"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey began, walking towards her, a hand outstretched and beckoning, "Think to whom you have come, and to whom you are speaking." She said simply, tapping a bed with her other hand expectantly.

It was enough, with a start Hermione thought back to all the times she'd come to her, when she'd messed up a polyjuice potion in her second year, when Harry had had one of his many quidditch injuries, when Ron had been poisoned. Each time, Madam Pomfrey had not said a word, but had helped. She'd healed. The healers' eyes were watching her carefully, a small knowing smile developing at the corners of her mouth.

"You're right," Hermione said quietly, stepping forward, far more confidently.

"I'm the only school nurse of a boarding school, if I spoke about everything I saw, I wouldn't be a very good nurse now would I? You can always come to me." She said gently, as Hermione perched upon the edge of the bed, looking as if she could run she would.

"Again, you're right," Hermione agreed.

"So?" Madam Pomfrey spoke expectantly, although not expecting an answer. She took Hermione's head in her hands carefully, looking at her skin, at the many cuts and bruises and burns that patterned her appearance. "Actually, I think I know why," she mused, "I'll summon a healer from St Mungos, they'll be better at getting rid of the mark on your arm. Expect that to scar, dark magic always leaves a mark of sorts. You'll have some vitamix now, and I'll give you more for the days to come. Thankfully, we have some burn and bruise paste."

"Ok," Hermione answered, shivering with nerves that she hadn't expected she'd owned.

:: :: ::

"How'd it go Hermione?" Harry asked her quietly, as they waited for Ron and Ginny to finish getting ready.

"It was better than I expected." She replied, rubbing her arm nervously, it had shrunk to a small starburst, her stomach was bubbling with the weight of liquid potions she'd been given to drink, and her skin felt like bubbles to touch, but the pastes had worked their magic. She looked and felt better.

"Good," Harry smiled at her as Ginny loosed a sigh.

"Be honest, does it suit me?" Ginny asked, eyeing a strand of dark blonde hair that she'd pulled between her fingers. She was now the proud owner of a long blonde mane, and dark blue eyes. Her appearance was the last to be changed by an auror from the ministry, and they all looked as different from their regular appearances. Hermione had also been turned into a blonde, a shade much more reminiscent of Malfoy than she'd expected. Her hair was also as straight as Ginny's, her eyes the same colour. The auror had clearly intended for them to look like sisters, and not friends. Ron was now sporting light brown hair, with brown eyes, whereas Harry had been given a glamour charm for his scar, his eyes were blue and his hair brown. His glasses transfigured into a different style. The effect was startling. If she hadn't known them all so well, Hermione would have sworn she was in a room with strangers.

"Sort of Ginny, sort of." Ron attempted to console his sister who was looking more and more worried by the moment. Ginny scowled viciously at him, as Harry; sensing the start of a possible sibling battle shoved all of them into the fireplace.

"THE LEAKY CAULDRON!" He bellowed so loudly they all winced, and Hermione's ears began to ring, she wasn't quite so sure if her hearing would be the same. Moments later, they stumbled into the well-known London pub to the disgruntled murmurs and comments of its clientele. Not one of them gave the four a look of recognition, and Hermione released a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding she began to untangle her limbs from the others, impressed with the way they'd managed to tie knots with each other during the journey and clambered to her feet.

"Right, let's go then." She said briskly, offering a hand to help Ginny up who seemed to be struggling against her squirming brother. When all were on their feet, they left to the Muggle part of London, instantly swallowed by the throng of the crowds, no one giving any of them a second glance. Harry had already grabbed Ron, and was pulling him into the first shop he'd seen. Ginny slipped her arm through Hermione's, and tugged on it hoping she'd follow.

"What's happened between you and my brother?" Ginny asked, steering Hermione into the women's section of the shop, her unfamiliar eyes flicking over to the less distinctive heads of her brother and boyfriend.

"I don't really know Gin," Hermione said, flicking through a rack full of shirts, checking them for her size as Ginny copied. "I don't think anything has really changed in all honesty, we're still friends. We just happened to have kissed."

"You don't think anything has changed, but he looks at you as if you were a puppy, and he's a child desperate for one." Ginny said disbelieving, her arm becoming weighed down with different coloured tops.

"I hadn't noticed; in all honesty, I mean… I love Ron, I do, but a relationship with him…" she trailed off, selecting her clothes from the rail and turning to the next one with an interested eye.

"Don't worry; Harry told me, and I understand. I don't prefer it, it would be wonderful to have you in the family by name one day, but you'll always be a sister of mine, and your happiness is number one." Ginny said comfortingly, as she began to pilfer another rail full of clothes, casually discarding things that weren't to her liking. "I just wish I knew what was up with Harry," she sighed, turning her gaze to the men's section again, checking the two boys hadn't abandoned them.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked slightly sharply, the concern pouring out of her like the rain in summer.

"He's… distant, with me. I mean. I don't expect him to be the same after the war, but he's barely looked at me twice in the way he said he would. He's told me he loves me, we're together, but… why doesn't it feel that way? We're not at war anymore. We're safe, people would love to know and see us together, but he keeps his distance. It's infuriating because he won't tell me why. It's even worse because of those blasted interview requests." She explained, as she picked up a leather jacket, inspecting it absently.

"I've not noticed any of that, but I have seen him look at you the way you say Ron looks at me. Perhaps… perhaps he just needs time to adjust, I can ask him if you like." Hermione offered as she shifted the load of clothes she'd picked up in her arms, heading towards the till to pay. "I think we're forgetting that life was completely different for us not even three full days ago, we're probably expecting change immediately."

"No… no, you're most likely right. Chances are this will all be something stupid and insignificant. You're right about the time part, perhaps I am being over the top at it all." Ginny said partially to herself as she followed Hermione, throwing her a grateful glance as the older girl took Ginny's purchases from her.

"Thanks, I don't get muggle money; I'll give you what I owe outside." She whispered, gesturing to the boys to come over and pay.

They'd visited several more shops, pausing to find somewhere where they could stuff the majority of their purchases into Hermione's purple sequined bag that had been hidden inside a larger bag of hers. She had spent most of her time chatting with Ginny in a care-free manner that reminded Hermione of why she loved the girl so much before Harry found his chance to talk to her. They'd entered a shop that specialised in jeans, and as they'd spread out, finding their own sizes Harry had found himself by Hermione's side.

"I spoke to Shacklebolt before he arrested Lucius Malfoy," He admitted bluntly, his face a strict mask of discipline.

"Oh?" Hermione asked simply, as the pair of them flicked through the labels of the women's jeans.

"Yeah. I think I may be part of the reason Malfoy is under house arrest at Hogwarts. Call me insane Hermione, especially after how I acted in sixth year, but, Merlin. I asked Shacklebolt to be lenient with both Narcissa and Draco. I mean, I think we technically all owe our lives to his mother. She lied blatantly to Voldemort and if he'd just thought to use occlumency…" he was muttering wildly to himself as he started to pick jeans in Hermione's size off the rack and hold them up to her like a well-trained dog. Hermione found herself wondering of his childhood briefly before listening to the words that were coming out of his mouth again. "I just didn't want him to go to Azkaban facing the life sentences that every other Death Eater is. Merlin knows why, I just didn't want it for him and his mother. Lucius can go fuck himself, but those two… I dunno Hermione, I just saw him like I saw Dudley for the first time in my life. Spoiled, stupid, and doing the only thing he's been taught to do. I thought Malfoy could do with a new beginning." He paused, handing jeans to Hermione absently, and she took her chance to speak.

"Why are you telling me all this?" She asked him gently, sensing something was clearly wrong.

"I don't know if I should have spoken to Shacklebolt Hermione, I don't know if I did the right thing." He admitted, looking clearly conflicted.

"Harry," Hermione soothed, taking his hand gently and squeezing it softly, "you absolutely did the right thing."

"Then why do I feel like… I mean, now I think about it I don't know why. Malfoy let the Death Eaters into the castle a-"

"Oh; not this again!" Hermione spat; surprising both her and Harry. "Tell me what happened next! You found out he was being forced to do something he didn't want to do. You were obsessed with him that year. You saw how he behaved, sure he did it, but you even said he would have been killed if what happened didn't happen! He couldn't kill Dumbledore!"

"So why was he happy to be in the Room of Requirement after he was spotted looking really rather uncomfortable at his Manor? He may not have turned us in but he was still happy to join in!" Harry retorted to her outburst just as quickly.

"You know what, I don't know why, and maybe we'll find out why, but I believe, to the bottom of my heart, that you did the right thing. You wanted him to have a second chance at life, a new beginning, and so we know he wasn't comfortable to do the really horrendous shit in the war, he's just a bully, and does what he does best. Bully. Maybe having the person he likes to call 'Saint Potter' and 'Scarhead' save him from that life sentence in Azkaban will make him think. We both know he's going to that place for two weeks anyway. He's going to have time to think. Maybe your intervention was what he needed. Or at least a tipping point. I think he enjoyed the war as much as us." Hermione attempted to persuade, almost herself as much as the boy beside her, mulling the words Harry had said about the Room of Requirement about in her mind.

"I guess you're right. Everybody deserves a second chance." Harry begrudged her, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Ron says he hopes Malfoy rots there."

Irritation burst into life in the pit of Hermione's stomach, and she rolled her eyes.

"Well he would wouldn't he?" She said quietly, checking to see that Ron wasn't about, "The Malfoy's are the people Ron just can't see past, he's not going to stop and think about what would happen should Malfoy be sent to Azkaban for life."

"What would happen?" Harry asked, curiosity ringing in his voice, his low tones filled with his thoughtfulness.

"Malfoy is one of the only Slytherins that are able to come back to Hogwarts," she began quietly, "If the new year goes ahead, and there are no Slytherin year eights, how is that going to look to all the first years? Slytherin may have a reputation for creating the most dark wizards, but we've just had a war. We need some eighth year Slytherins to return, we need them to at least be in the castle to start breaking people's prejudices. Yeah, I doubt Malfoy will change completely, if he changes at all, he'll probably still bully as always, but he'll be there. Just seeing the guy walk about the castle will mean that he's clearly not as dreadful as his reputation because he served the mandatory time in Azkaban and that was it. _He doesn't even have a trial_. If it gets out that you spoke to Shacklebolt concerning his punishment, then… think about it Harry. You're Harry Potter. Malfoy can't be that bad if you're willing to help save him. It pains me to say it, but Slytherin needs to be seen in a better light if we're to avoid another Wizarding War, having someone famous; and Malfoy is famous, simply for being a Malfoy, who fought on the other side in the war, walking about Hogwarts will do more good than bad. Even if it doesn't make sense to you right now." Hermione whispered to him, throwing pairs of jeans over her arm in slightly varying shades of black and blue. Harry appraised her carefully, his brows knitted together, but he nodded, his lips pulled together tight.

"I hate that you make sense sometimes." He grunted, as Hermione laughed lightly.

"It's going to be weird coming back to Hogwarts without you and Ron," Hermione said, tactfully changing the subject as she jerked her head in the direction of the changing rooms, and casually picking a bag up off the shelf next to her.

"I'll be better off in the Ministry," Harry replied, a firm set expression on his face as he followed Hermione to the changing rooms.

"Why?"

"Think about it, think about the war we've just had, why it was started, and think about the Ministry we had to suffer through it. I can't just sit here and get N.E. W. T's while a whole new Ministry is being built right now. I need to do something, I need to be there to make press conferences look bad or great, or to say something here or there. I can't do a year of school then be ignored when I enter an established Ministry a year later. We can't handle another corrupt Ministry. We can't have people running the Wizarding World in Britain who still think Muggleborns are scum and that Dark Wizards don't exist just because some teenage boy says it." His tone had developed a hint of his famous fury, his expression pure fire. "As much as I hate to say it Hermione, I'm Harry Potter. I'm not going to get out of this war with no press invasion, no curiosity as to what I'm doing. If I'm at school again... what are people going to think? They won't listen to a schoolboy, but a man who works in the Auror department in the Ministry..."

"I understand," she nodded, remembering Scrimgeours' visit to Harry to determine 'whose man' Harry was, the incompetence of Fudge, and the hope Shacklebolt seemed to drip with every word he spoke, it was going to be more of a help to the changes Shacklebolt wanted to make if the Harry Potter was in the ministry, criticising those who would be problematic. "You are in a far better place in the Auror department, whereas I'm better off at Hogwarts."

"Why?" Harry asked reminiscent of herself moments earlier.

"I'm not… ready for a Ministry job. I know Hogwarts isn't completely free of scrutiny, it'll probably be worse now in all honesty, but it just feels safe there. I can't throw myself into anything challenging for ages. I just need something normal before I feel like I can actually contribute. What is more normal than… school?" She explained, as an amused grin split across Harry's face.

"I think you're forgetting something."

"Oh and N.E.W.T's," she sighed, exasperated, as Harry's laughter bellowed around the shop to the alarm of several people around them, Ginny looked over with an amused smile of her own, as Ron looked at the pair of them jealously.

"It's going to be hard work from here on out again Hermione," he sighed, and Hermione nodded.

"It will, but we're going to do it for the better. We can't risk the old prejudices lingering, and risking a new war. Not again. That's why Shacklebolt offered you and Ron those auror jobs at breakfast the other day."

"You're right, he was going to offer you one too, but I told him I didn't think it was the right department for you, I hope you're not-"

"Oh no, Harry that's perfect, thank you, I would have turned it down anyway; I can't say I'd like to have earned my way into the ministry on name alone anyway."

"Oi!" Harry gasped, looking a little hurt as Hermione found a changing room that suited her tastes and took the jeans from him thankfully.

"Oh you know exactly what I mean." She admonished him as Ginny began to make her own way over. "Harry, tell Ron when he asks what we were talking about, that I told you to be more "together" with Ginny. She's legitimately concerned." She told him, watching Harry's face pale.

"I'm ready to go home," Ginny laughed, as Ron wandered over, and Hermione smiled at her.

"I just need to finish up and pay, then we can go, shops will start to close soon any way." She told her as Ginny nodded, looking to Harry hopefully, holding her basket filled with clothing out.

"Sure, I'll get it for you." He agreed, as Ginny about sighed with relief.

"Don't blame you Gin; all the muggle coins are weird." Ron muttered as Hermione laughed to herself in the changing room.

:: :: ::

Her trek back up to Gryffindor tower was slow as she trudged thoughtfully up to her dorm; she waved her wand over her features, her blonde tresses melting back into their usual wild chocolate state. Her eyes returned to their sparkling mahogany tones, as the bruises flowered back on to her skin. The walls of Hogwarts we're looking bare, portraits had been removed for cleaning and repairs, as had the many tapestries and suits of armour. The holes in the walls, or sheer lack of a wall in some cases was more pronounced than usual, the crunch of the stone dust making Hermione feel slightly guilty with every step.

Frantic pacing and muttering jolted her from her reverie, and she skidded to a halt, just as a hand shot out from the door, roughly tanking her inside the classroom.

The door slammed shut, and she reached for her wand, only to find it slapped roughly out of her hand, clattering on the floor several feet away. In retaliation she swung desperately at whoever had grabbed at her, and found herself restrained instantly.

"Stop being so bloody difficult Granger!" A familiar voice snarled at her, gripping her upper arms, and slamming her against the wall. The face of Draco Malfoy sneered at her; confusion and rage a blizzard in his winter eyes, his body unusually close against her, barring Hermione from an easier struggle.

"Malfoy." She acknowledged, setting her jaw in a furious return snarl.

"Why are you eaves dropping?" He demanded, roughly shoving her against the wall again, as if emphasising who was in control of the situation. She growled, irritated at the unnecessary confrontation, Hermione moved her feet to kick at the insides of his legs, only to find him apply light pressure with his knee on the inside of her thigh.

"Eaves drop what? I've literally just got here!" She retorted, her voice a hiss as she gasped with the pain of the pressure her was applying to her.

"My apology!" He explained his eyes ablaze with a fury Hermione couldn't even properly explain away. He nudged her again and she gasped, surprised at the sharp pains now coming from her leg. His face seemed to transform, the sharp edges of his face becoming lethal as his anger over took him, a deadly beauty over coming all else. His eyes glittered as the blizzard raged on. Fear blossomed in Hermione's blood, spreading with every quickened beat of her heart as he gripped her upper arms harder.

Hermione stared at him defiantly, unwilling to anger him further.

"I fucking _knew_ you'd try to mess it up somehow." He spat at her, and the fear that had created vines across her body grew thorns as her rage exploded.

"You stupid ferret! I overheard _nothing_ , you cock! I had literally just reached this corridor when I heard you walking over all the crap on the floor here and muttering to yourself! I had no idea you were even working on your apology. I don't even know when you need to do it! Even if I had come here intentionally it would be to offer my help, not ruin it you utter fuckwit!" Hermione spat at him, struggling against his body that still pinned her to the wall. He released her, stepping back as shock flooded him, his snow white skin paling further. Hermione pushed him roughly diving for her wand as he mouthed nothingness into the air, stumbling backwards onto a desk making no effort to catch himself. The swirling snows of emotions in his wintery eyes now blown out, as he looked at the door in confusion.

"You'd help?" He asked her weakly, turning to look at her livid form now pointing her wand at him, fresh red marks on her arms.

"Yes." She affirmed her murderous feeling still alive and well, "If there is one thing I have learnt being with Harry and Ron all these years is that men are dreadful at apologies, and I doubt you're going to get away with a simple 'sorry'. You know everyone is going to want to see you grovel, so you better make it good." She noted he had a fresh suit on, one that didn't seem to have seen the war at all, no stains that were almost impossible to get out and no evidence of blood, or a quick repair. He was pushing himself into a more comfortable position, shock still evident on her face and she sighed, slipping her wand back into her pocket as she realised he'd made no effort to get to his. He couldn't anyway, the trace still held too much sway in important decisions, and what good would it do him to be hexing people.

"So, you'd actually help." He repeated, watching her warily this time, his voice strained, and his posture unsteady.

"If you asked nicely. When are you even expected to give it?" Hermione replied, squaring herself up defensively.

He paused obviously, allowing himself to look her over several times, appraising her figure under her least destroyed clothes she'd been able to wear; he swallowed, running his tongue over his lips thoughtfully.

"If you are truly willing, then I would very much appreciate any help you would be willing to give me over this matter." He breathed finally, looking utterly defeated, "I need to give the apology tomorrow."

"Then I'll help." She said before she could stop herself.

"Why are you helping me after all I've done?" He asked, shocked at her genuine agreement to help.

"Yeah, I'd love to know that too after this little show you decided to put on Malfoy." She snapped at him, placing her hands on her hips to stop herself from shaking from a fresh wave of anger. Panic slipped over Draco's expression for the briefest of moments before he could control himself again. Her rage subsided as fast as it had come and she breathed out audibly, closing her eyes to him.

"You are… right of course," he agreed as Hermione realised that was as close as she was going to get to an apology. It was awful.

"How far have you got?"

"Nowhere."

"Do you even know what you're apologising for?" She asked him in the same tone she'd used with Ron about homework so many times before. Draco bristled, obviously insulted, his upper lip curling into his ever so loved sneer.

"Obviously," he drawled, the lethal edge sneaking back into his tone and expression as Hermione made to perch upon one of the not so ruined desks.

"Then pretend I'm Madam Rosmerta, and apologise to me." She said, ignoring his petulance.

"I am sorry for placing you under the imperious curse, and forcing you to handle dangerous objects." Malfoy said insincerely.

"Oh Merlin. Is that it?" She asked, rubbing her eyebrows with one hand and slumping a little.

"Isn't that what I'm meant to be saying sorry for?"

"Oh for goodness sake, use your brain. You have a public apology. You really think a one liner is really going to cut it? I said it earlier; they're going to want to see you squirm. You need the most heartfelt apology ever known to man. You need to make it look as though you've thought about this. Think, what did you actually do to that woman?" Hermione snapped at him, angry again. Malfoy scowled at her, but strangely appeared to do as she asked. She watched his face twist with the effort and as if a bullet had shot through her she flinched. It was her war heroine status. Of course he'd listen to her. She held sway in the world now, whereas he didn't. He was under the trace with Azkaban hanging over his head, and unlike her, an uncertain future after his two week stint. The last thing he wanted was her going round telling everyone he truly hadn't changed.

Had he though? He'd just attacked her; her mind reminded her with a throb from her thigh and forearm.

"I threatened her in her own home, I took away control of her own body, I could have almost killed her for my own selfish means; I took everything away from her." He said quietly as Hermione watched him, her face flushing. _Merlin_ , she thought, _why did there have to be an intelligent side to him?_

"There, that's what you have to say. You have to flesh that out of course, make it sound like you really thought about it."

He nodded, pushing himself away from the desk he'd been leaning upon and in an instant his demeanour had transformed once again. Where he had been happy to appear defenceless a moment before, he was back to being as deadly as an arctic tiger.

"Go on then Granger, blackmail me, what do you want to keep this quiet?" He snarled, humiliation rife in the glare he threw her.

"You think I'm as low as to blackmail you?" she asked him disbelievingly, "I knew you thought I'm the lowest of the low anyway, but blackmail? You think I'm that awful?" Disappointment fell onto her figure, as her shoulders slumped, and she fell against the wall for support. At least she now knew exactly why he'd attacked her, what she'd walked in on was something she could hold above his head. Draco Malfoy; failing at saying sorry. Confusion sparked to life in Draco's pose and he leaned towards her curiously.

"Isn't… isn't that what's supposed to happen now?" He asked her, his voice steady and careful. He obviously hadn't been expecting her reaction. She laughed humourlessly, and turned her sad eyes to him, her molten brown gaze dripping with pity and sympathy.

"You fucking idiot." She told him, "You haven't had a real friend in your life have you?" She asked, not expecting an answer. Draco bristled slightly, still humiliated and confused. "You didn't ask for my involvement in this, and I didn't expect to over hear it nor do anything with what I actually consider to be useless information. I used to think you were so brainwashed there was no hope for you, but now I see you've never been around people who love you. You have apparently never experienced people who love you without expecting anything of you or from you. Nor have you ever had people around you who will do things for you just because; not because they'll get something in return, willingly given or not. So I pity you Malfoy above anything else." She sighed, looking at his slowly slumping figure.

"So I-" He began, confused and wounded.

"Look, if you want to play this the way I know you're used to, answer me this and I'll act like this never happened, the way I was going to anyway." Hermione interjected, suddenly exhausted and just wanting to be free of the transfiguration classroom and the turmoil of emotions it had put her through. He nodded, curious.

"What were you doing in the Room of Requirement with Crabbe and Goyle?" She asked, her words shook something inside of him and he flushed a peculiar shade of pink.

"I was keeping up appearances. My parents were here. My aunt was here. The Dark Lord was here, and I'm here running about with his fucking brand on my arm!" He hissed, shame and humiliation poisoning his tone, "You think I would have been able to just live had he known everything? Crabbe and Goyle may have believed everything that was said, and even enjoyed it, but I…"

"I get it." Hermione interrupted, making to leave as she threw him one last pitying glance. "See you tomorrow Malfoy," she finished, sweeping out the door and marching down the corridor briskly. A loud roar and a bang followed her, and she jumped spinning around to see Malfoy's lean figure with a desk held in his hands, the table part of it clearly slammed into the wall as it now sported a large crack. She stared at him in shock, only to see an emotion she knew all too well returned.

Pain.

:: :: ::

He threw the desk down, running his hands through his hair, his anger shook him to the core, and his body began to tremble with uncontrolled rage. He'd show her. He'd chase her down and make her feel like hell for talking to him like that. He left the classroom, chasing after her as he heard an all too familiar voice.

"Hermione! I thought you'd be in the common room by now, not behind me! Oh well, doesn't matter, I came to talk to you anyway."

It was the Weasel. His voice was happy and cheery, but lecherous tones rang strong and clear to Malfoy. He froze on the stairs, carefully sidling himself into a spot behind a suit of armour, and shielded by the remains of part of a wall. This had turned out better than he'd expected. He crouched down, out of sight, but able to hear.

"Oh, I was going to sort out my bag, I don't think I can get your clothes right now-" Hermione was saying, and Malfoy's brow creased with amusement, the idea that Hermione was practically his mother carrying about his clothes tickled something inside him.

"No, it's not about that, Ginny said she'll take them for us, but it's about… us, you know as you're my girlfriend I-" Malfoy's eyebrows shot up in unrestrained surprise, he'd seen it coming, but part of him had always thought that Hermione wouldn't be so low as to fall for a man who belittled her, and had to be practically babied by her.

"What? I'm your what?" Hermione was spluttering, her discomfort was obvious, but the oblivious Weasley member battled on.

"Well obviously, I mean after we kissed, but I was just asking if you'd like to move into my room with me in the Burrow now that Harry is thinking of asking Ginny to live with him." Weasley blustered on, ignorant to Hermione's efforts to interrupt him.

"Ron; no." She said sternly, "I really don't think I'm your girlfriend at all. Your friend; yes. Your girlfriend; no. I'm also not ok with moving in with you into your room in the Burrow. I need space. I don't think it's ok to be making these assumptions about Harry and Ginny either, not when she was saying something different to me earlier!" She fled, her footsteps becoming distant as she went up another floor.

The Weasel hadn't given up though, and gave chase for the briefest of moments, before swiftly turning on his heel, he strode towards Malfoy's hiding place, and Draco shrank back into the darkness, cursing Merlin for his lack of being able to use his wand, and stopped breathing as the red haired boy stomped past him. Ron's fists were clenched, and he was gritting his teeth. He hadn't taken the rejection well, and it was all Draco could do to swallow down a mocking laugh. He stayed put for several seconds, waiting for the footsteps to vanish altogether before revealing himself, his emotions in turmoil. He was still angry with Granger, but oddly proud of her for realising she could do better than the Weasley boy. He slipped down the stairs, pondering what he could do with the information, if anything, heading for the Slytherin common room.

:: :: ::

Irritated with Ron and her odd encounter with Malfoy, Hermione shimmed out of her clothing, eager to change in to a new set of clothes, relishing in the freshness of the fabric, the lack of rips; tears and unexplained stains a welcome sight to her eyes.

She tossed the ones she'd been wearing into the bin, where they joined the other abandoned clothes of hers. With a determined grit, she picked up her bag, removing the purple sequined one from within it. Sorting out her portable cavern was the last small step she could take in her post war life. The next ones would be big ones, like getting back to health, and finding her parents. Thankfully, she was able to use her old Gryffindor dormitory whilst she did so. The idea of intruding on the Weasley's with all her possessions seemed just too much. Especially in the same room as Ron. Not to mention her old childhood home was unavailable, due it being sold for funds for her parents, or the 'Wilkins' re-location to Australia. It was nice to have an official home of sorts.

She emptied the bag, tipping its contents onto the bed. The thunderous noise of books, clothes, vials of potions, food supplies and finally a portrait causing her to wince guiltily. Turning over the portrait of Phineus Nigellus, who was somehow still sleeping after the loud bangs and thuds, so that he couldn't see his location reminded Hermione of all the times spent on the run. With a deft flick of her wand, she separated her new clothes from old, her new purchases ending up in her wardrobes and draws, whilst her old set; the bin.

Harry, Ron and Ginny's buys ended up by the door, where she'd take them to the Burrow to be shared out. The portrait and Bill's tent also ended up there, while with a deft flick the books that did not belong to her flew out the door, headed to their rightful places.

With a final two flicks of her wand, she opened the window, and bound the clothes that had belonged to Harry and Ron whilst on the run into a tight sack. The stench of it had made her stomach turn.

She ended the charm on her bag, and then tucked it into a draw in her wardrobe, patting it fondly, pleased its service had ended.

Someone knocked at the door.

She jumped, confused, her fingers tightening about her wand.

"Hermione?" A questioning voice came, as the door opened ever so slightly.

"Oh, Ginny, come in, come in," she relaxed, shame bubbling in her stomach at her reaction, waving the red-head in. Ginny didn't need telling twice, and skipped into the room her features the same as they'd always been.

"Was going to take our clothes from you, I really need to see what I've bought, and what I can now throw out." She laughed, realising that Hermione had been doing the same. Hermione grinned at Ginny and gestured to the piled up bags of shopping she'd dismissed to behind the door were.

"It's all there, Harry and Ron's too; I was going to take all of this back to the Burrow considering its dinner there tonight." Hermione smiled as Ginny began to pick up as many bags as she could carry.

"You're right, and you can go with me if you're all finished here?" Ginny asked, attempting to tuck the portrait under her arm as gracefully as she could manage. Hermione turned her gaze to her room thoughtfully, looking at the bin that was now piled high with the refuse from her bag, and to her now filled bookshelves and wardrobe. Her bedside table had her various potions that Madam Pomfrey and the healer from St. Mungo's had given her, ready to be taken once in the morning, and once at night. On the bed were her brand new pyjamas, one for every day of the week which had bemused the shop assistant, at so much being bought at once, and a lone piece of dittany.

With a quick dart to the bed to retrieve it, she added it to her overflowing bin, picking up Bill's tent and the last remaining bags.

"You look as if a huge weight has just left you," Ginny said quietly, as Hermione finally turned back to her.

"I think one has Gin, I just sorted out the bag we used last year."

"Ah," Ginny nodded, a small expression of understanding flickering at the corners of her mouth. "Well, to food." She announced, leaving Hermione's dormitory.

"To food," Hermione echoed, following.


	5. Forgive

The Slytherin common room had been almost transformed entirely from its old appearance, as many of the Death Eaters were Slytherin; they'd brought several of their home comforts to their old house gathering place. The room was now draped in sumptuous fabric that stank of old pureblood money. The chairs were upholstered in rich satins, forest green leathers, and real silver snakes now found themselves as legs for a few of the chairs. The wizarding chess sets now had marble and onyx squares, with pieces of enchanted quartz. Everything that could have been upgraded to what was 'more suitable for a pureblood' had been. The green haze that overpowered the lights the candles gave out remained oppressive, but somehow even colder than before, as though the poisonous ideals of those who had so often strolled into the common room had now deposited their venom into the very walls. The tapestries of famous Slytherins failed to entertain Draco in the way they had the first time he'd been in his houses common room; his disappointment with his father not being on the walls recorded in a letter he'd sent home, only to be told in a harsh reply that a 'Malfoy had a different kind of power, a useful power, that didn't require ridiculous feats to earn respect.' Draco hadn't fully understood what his father had meant at the time, until he'd begun complaining of things to his parents, and soon found those simple complaints vanishing.

Draco was laid out over one of the leather sofas, gazing at a tapestry that for some reason depicted a man on a hippogriff waving his wand at a giant. The sound of the water of the lake running as the creatures disturbed it was the only noise in the room other than the sound of his breathing. Moments ago, he'd been shouting and screaming again, throwing the intricately carved figurines from the chess sets against the stone walls; flinging the newspapers about, and smashing a stool to pieces without the use of his wand. The physical exertion had been surprisingly therapeutic, and he didn't mean to destroy so much, yet the satisfying tinkle of smashed glass, the ear splitting shatter of wood splintering and the rip of leather was doing much for his mental state. He'd torn up most of the overly decadent room that reminded him just a little too much of his manor, until he'd lost his balance and stumbled over the back of the sofa, it was how he had come to find himself panting and suddenly feeling rather drained. The couch was now unbearably comfortable, and he had no desire to move any part of him ever again. Unfortunately, his thoughts were more than happy with the decision to stop moving; the agonised screams of Hermione Granger now sliced through his consciousness like molten lava, scorching any other stream of thought that dared to pass through his mind.

He let out an angry grunt as he thought of Hermione, her face wide eyed and pale staring at him as his aunt pawed over her, repeating an unforgivable as if it were a compliment. Now she swanned about the school, over hearing his apology plans and offering him help like everything was her business. The thought of her help sent a strange thrill up his spine. If anything was going to help him look sincere it was that Hermione had made him think about what he needed to say in his apology.

She'd told him to think. And think he'd done. His father was waiting to stand trial and faced a life sentence in Azkaban, and his mother was locked up with a woman he had no knowledge of and under a trace for two years. His own situation was grim. He'd be in a cell in due time in Azkaban, but not before publically humiliating himself. A quick spark of irritation flared to life before dying as he remembered the note he'd received earlier, telling him it would be an incredibly public apology. His thoughts quickly turned back to the other parts of his punishment however, dwelling on it would do him no good. He'd already given up what could be called half a thimbles amount of money to the three institutions as requested. That however was nothing given the vast wealth of his family. With a grunt he noted he could be in a worse place, such as actually going to Azkaban for life. Then he'd lose the entire Malfoy inheritance to the Ministry, centuries worth of investments, galleons and lands acquired gone in one fell swoop. His mother at least had her share of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, the rest of it had all been divided up and gone. She was of course, the lone surviving daughter that hadn't been blasted off the family tree. If his mother hadn't managed to escape Azkaban, then all of that could be lost to the Ministry too.

Draco rolled over slightly, pressing his back to the sofa, and changing his gaze to the window hoping to see a glimpse of the Giant Squid, and groaned. Here he was, debating how his inheritances could end up when his own home was in need of rebuilding, his money best not touched for the time being in case the Ministry thought he was being frivolous and used it against him, and his parents gone from him with no good-byes. The only person he'd actually managed to interact with genuinely was Granger.

His hands moved up to his face, covering it from the outside world, as if there were people around to view the humiliation that had carved its way forward. He had made a right fool out of himself with Granger, attacking her in the way he had. It had made far more sense at the time, that she'd be eaves dropping for something to use against him in the future, but what, and why. She'd certainly made him re-think his actions however.

He'd never hated Granger; he'd been jealous, spiteful, and most certainly disliked her, but not hatred. He'd never had enough of a cause to hate her. Her consistently beating him to first of the class had been a mild irritant, but never enough to actually despise her. Then she'd so openly offered him help after his physical assault and she'd instantly proven everything he'd ever thought about her. At her core, she was a decent person.

It had hurt him to the centre of his being, the very fibres of his self-pulled apart and made to ring like a harp at her behaviour. She'd rightfully fought back, screamed at him, but then offered help. A grudging amount of respect had nestled itself in the back of his mind, after everything that he'd done towards her she was still willing to see past that and help keep him out of a hell on earth. She was most certainly a better person than he was. Then she had said she pitied him, and said he obviously hadn't a friend who was a real friend; his brain racked his memories thinking of actions that proved he had people who loved him for 'him' as she had said and had come up null.

Crabbe and Goyle had followed him because they were too thick to do otherwise, they were easy to push around and put Draco in the metaphorical place he'd been brought up to believe he belonged in; first. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini had been smarter, and not so easy to push around. They were easier to talk to about things with weight behind them than Crabbe and Goyle had been, but the ever present reminder that things revealed were bargaining chips and blackmail toys was all too clear. His flings with Pansy were vapid, and only because she were a good possible marriage prospect, a good looking woman from one of the sacred twenty eight families, rich, and not intelligent enough to ever cause much of an issue, but clever enough to not say anything that may cause one. In fact, Pansy was his contracted wife-to-be, all that his parents were waiting for him to do was to put a ring on her claw. No, he had no real friends.

His parents love was complex, if he'd ever doubted their love for him in the past, the last couple of years had proven they did love him, and each other. Only they were too appearance based for anything affectionate to really be displayed in public, no tender proud words had ever been said to him. Only reminders on how a Malfoy should act. It hadn't even occurred to Draco that there might have been another way of life that was out there. He'd believed fully that that was the only way social interactions were supposed to happen. With blackmail and distrust. It had been why the other houses were so awful, all their public displays of affection, the inability to properly get what they needed out of someone, so much public drama. It had, now Draco realised, gone hand in hand with the belief that pure-blooded was the best way to be. The behaviours of the other houses, that were so mixed blooded with the occasional pure-blooded scion appearing, that it had re-enforced everything his parents had raised him to believe, with such different behaviours on show, how could they have been wrong. Then Granger comes in, and says something so honestly it had nagged at him for the hours after the event. Surely, his way of life was the only way of life, how could there be others?

The clock upon the mantel piece chimed that it was half eight, and he sighed, pulling himself up off the sofa and checking himself over. It was time for him to go say sorry. He turned towards the exit, ready to go meet the two aurors who would escort him to Hogsmeade and his humiliation.

:: :: ::

The news at dinner in the warm, welcoming kitchen of the Burrow had not been particularly pleasant. They were all to watch Draco Malfoy apologise to Madam Rosmerta in the morning. First thing, roughly nine am. Arthur had explained that Shacklebolt wanted Malfoy to have to speak in front of as many people as possible to hammer home just how much damage his side of the war had caused, to take in the furious faces, the ones wanting to watch him fall as hard as he could, to have to humble himself as much as possible.

Ron had scoffed, as Bill's eyebrows had risen; Percy had puffed himself up, and begun agreeing with Shacklebolts decision immediately. Harry had looked at her, his expression conflicted, and despite her own emotions she discovered her own features had pulled themselves into a pointed look. The conversation she'd had with Harry whilst shopping coming to the fore front of her thoughts.

It was how it came to be that at eight in the morning, she found herself walking around the entrance hall of Hogwarts, waiting for Malfoy to appear.

Footsteps noisily made their way up from the dungeon moments after she thought of leaving to claim her place next to Harry and Ginny in Hogsmeade. She turned, expectantly, as the lean figure of Malfoy strode into the hall, his appearance impeccable. He'd clearly made an effort. He had combed his platinum blonde mop so that not a hair was out of place, his suit didn't hold a single crease, nor did it look as though it would even if he were to be in the middle of a hurricane, even his shoes were polished.

"What are you doing here?" He greeted, coming to a stop as he viewed Hermione.

"I think I'm going insane, but it's because I want to know how your speech is." She replied as Malfoy arched a lone brow, irritation sparking to life.

"It's enough to let them know they can't ruin me." He scoffed in reply as Hermione spluttered in surprise.

"Ruin you?"

"What else do they want? I found out this morning that I'm going to apologise in front of most of wizarding Britain, I know what they're going for. They want to see me humiliated." He snarled at her, fury once again starting a blizzard with in him.

"Malfoy." Hermione said sternly, "You were hardly were innocent of being a perfect student for the six years before the war. Tell me you didn't cause trouble, chaos, and sheer agony for all around you. You abused power when you were given it, your prefects position, and then with your "inquisitorial squad". You used your father to make life hell for teachers here at Hogwarts, and even abused the media when it suited you. You're being made to apologise for perhaps the worst thing you did out of all of that. Of course they're going to want to watch you be humiliated."

"But why?" He hissed at her, taking a step forward his gait easy, as if he were simply able to pounce upon her and take her away to his lair with one easy swipe of his hand, "why do they want this?"

"Because they want vengeance, they want to see one of the biggest bullies get what's coming to them. Your father made life a living nightmare for so many people, and it's common knowledge that his son was following in his footsteps, have you not even thought for one moment that this is the best way to calm the masses so there aren't riots, and to perhaps humble you so you might have a chance at life after you come out of Azkaban?" Hermione breathed, intimidated by Malfoy's sharp eyes boring into hers, his expression desperate.

He looked as if he'd been slapped by her words, and he paused, his eyes flicking to a clock Hermione wasn't even sure was working anymore.

"I need to go. I'll be late. I'll see you in the audience." He told her, prowling out the doors of Hogwarts like a lion on a hunt. She released a breath she wasn't even aware she'd been holding, and followed him out, thinking of apparating to Harry and Ginny the moment she was able.

:: :: ::

"Hey, saved you a seat," Ginny smiled, patting a chair next to her in the warm may sun. Hogsmeade was jammed full of people, Hermione had never seen it so busy. A low hum of noise surrounded them, as wizarding Britain discussed what was to happen in a few moments time, chairs had been placed as close to a make shift podium as possible, tauntingly, Hermione thought, right in front of the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta was sitting directly in front of the shabby stage, her arms crossed, and pointedly looking at no one but the sign of her tavern. To her right, sat Shacklebolt, who was speaking to a rather tubby man in a stern voice, pointing to a group of people each holding cameras and quills just to the side of the Three Broomsticks.

With a jolt, Hermione realised that herself, Harry, Ginny and the entire Weasley family had been given pride of place seats to view Malfoy say sorry. Front row. She sat in her chair, and smiled shakily at Ginny whose expression changed instantly. She slipped her hand into Hermione's and watched her carefully.

"What's wrong?" She asked, quietly, and leaning in towards her to make it appear like they were simply exchanging gossip the way teenage girls were expected to.

"Ginny, I don't think I can explain right now. Not because of where we are or who we're with or anything like that but because-"

"You're not sure what it is that's actually wrong?" She interrupted, as Hermione nodded gratefully.

"Well you know I'm here for you when you figure it out," Ginny said gently, squeezing her hand, but not releasing it. Hermione smiled in appreciation as a quiet dropped over them like a frozen rain. She shivered suddenly, noting the atmosphere of the crowd had changed dramatically. Where before the small square had been packed full of anticipation, an excitement not unlike that of a quidditch match, now it felt hungry, expectant, jeering.

The sparkling sun now felt cold, and the breeze, blowing the smell of bread and coffee from within the Three Broomsticks over her did nothing to soothe her unexplained nerves. She felt sick, and she gripped Ginny's hand tightly, who instantly began to rub her thumb over the back of it unthinkingly.

"On the box boy." A random man said gruffly, shoving Malfoy forward to the completely silent crowds' glee. Malfoy didn't react, instead carefully stepped onto the stack of wood provided, and placed a piece of parchment onto the stand he'd been given. He stood, watching the crowd for a moment, as the press began to take their pictures, the flashbulbs causing his hair to flash like lightning.

"Minister," Malfoy spoke carefully, to the surprise of the crowd who had clearly not been expecting his first word to be an address to the man who had ordered the apology. "May I perform a charm?" He asked, sincerely.

"I think I can guess which one, here, _sonorous_ ," Shacklebolt said, casting the charm for him and gesturing with a curl of his wrist for Malfoy to continue. Draco dipped his head in thanks, his expression still neutral, but it managed to hold just the smallest hint of respect.

"I was reminded not fifteen minutes ago, that I have lived a somewhat charmed life." Malfoy began, his voice even, but now heard by all. Those who had started to complain at the back fell quiet once more, and Madam Rosmerta stiffened in her seat, her green eyes narrowing. "I was raised in one of the oldest estates in England, never had to think about money, never had to think about what I was going to do with my life, in fact, I never had to think about anything. I was told, by my parents, frequently, that I was lucky to be a pureblood, and that status alone, meant I was right."

A murderous hiss began to shimmer through those gathered, and the flashes of the cameras exploded like fireworks as Malfoy paused.

"This caused me to grow up to 'abuse power' as I was told. Of course, I did not realise it at the time, although I was certainly aware of it. I thought it was normal to be surrounded by those who did anything to achieve their ends. Even if what I was doing was wrong, I believed that I was right. It was not until my sixth year at Hogwarts that I came to understand; rather late I am sure, that everything I had believed in the world was not quite as black and white as I had assumed. You see, I had never developed a need to critically think about anything that wasn't academic. Not when I had a life planned out for me, a life I was very happy to accept. I was very lucky to have parents able to provide for me in such a way.

Only, at the end of my fifth year of Hogwarts, my father failed You-Know-Who, and being a sixteen year old I took the brunt of my parents' punishment. I was forced to become a Death Eater, and take on a task that was practically impossible. I was given the task to kill Albus Dumbleore." He paused for a moment, as a horrified gasp came from the crowd, and Madam Rosmerta looked at Malfoy, tears streaming down her face, her expression unreadable. The press were beside themselves, and Shacklebolt was watching Malfoy warily.

"Well yeh managed it, didn't yeh!" Someone called, clearly upset, as Malfoy opened his mouth to speak again. He ignored the cry, and continued.

"The plan that my parents had set out for me had quite obviously changed drastically, and I did not know how to handle this. You see, the price for my failing, would be the death of my parents. I tell you all this, not for your sympathy. That, I have learned I most definitely do not deserve, but so you may understand my actions, Madam Rosmerta in particular." He looked at her, briefly, before looking away into the depths of the crowd again, his ice eyes determined.

"I discovered something I had never thought about before. Something that I am sure many of you will relate to, even if you have no wish to understand any part of me, but I learned I was not comfortable with the idea of killing another person. I did not want to, but I thought I had no choice. I did. I always did. I could have simply gone to Albus Dumbledore, and told him, asked him for help, something. Only, I was sixteen, and I had never had to think. So I set about attempting to kill a man I did not want to harm." He took another pause, as the crowd gathered remained quiet, the hunger for his humiliation had simmered away, but the sickness still lingered in Hermione's stomach.

"So here; here is where I apologise to you truly, Madam Rosmerta. In order to harm a man I had no desire to hurt, I placed you under an unforgivable, I took away all choice you had in your life, and forced you to smuggle in objects that could have seriously harmed you. I jeopardised your health, your safety. I violated the grounds that should always be safe to you, your house, your inn, by cursing you with the imperious. I behaved exactly like a stupid, spoiled teenager. One who instead of admitting there were other ways out, did not, and instead I blindly charged forward, placing you in incredible danger for my own, selfish reasons. I did not think of anyone else save my parents, and for all of this; I am sorry. From the very depths of my being, I am sorry." Malfoy had looked directly at a sobbing Madam Rosmerta as Ginny loosed a low whistle, clearly impressed. The gathered members of the wizarding world sensed he had come to a close as Shacklebolt lifted the charm upon his voice, and a stunned chatter drowned out Hermione's thoughts.

"Alright, that'll do you little shit." Someone was saying in a gruff authoritative voice, gesturing for Malfoy to step off his wooden platform. Madam Rosmerta was frozen in place, as Shacklebolt was gesturing to a group of Aurors to start to disband the press, one hand on Rosmerta's shoulder in a comforting manner.

Draco was stood to the side of his platform, looking for the entire world as if he wished for the ground to part and swallow him up, yet his mask of being cool and collected remained. Madam Rosmerta stood, brushing her pristine robes off nervously, before making her way to him, her face impassive.

"I forgive you," she said quietly, her face puffy from the tears she'd spilt, "you're just a teenager, and I've been serving drinks here long enough to know you kids make stupid decisions all the time. You just happened to be the biggest dumbass of all of them. I'm not going to ban you from the pub; I don't think that'll do much good, but for Merlin's sake, learn some common sense. Maybe get a girlfriend who'll slap you senseless when you act like such a dick. You're not sixteen anymore. No one is going to kill your parents. No one is forcing you to do anything but you. I'm forgiving you for your actions a year ago. Your future ones remain to be judged." She finished, looking at him pointedly. Malfoy nodded, his head low, respectful.

"I will do my best." He said earnestly, looking in her tearful green eyes.

"For now, don't come to the tavern today, get out of my sight. Tomorrow is a new day." She replied, turning away from him, and out of the summer sun into her tavern, followed by a stream of eager people who had overheard her forgiveness.

Swiftly, Malfoy turned on his heel and strode towards the school, immediately flanked by two Aurors making sure he didn't go anywhere else. Hermione's eyes burning holes into his back.

:: :: ::

The garden of the Burrow was filled with people. The entire Weasley family had gathered, with Harry and Hermione as was the norm. Molly had prepared a lunch in the style of a picnic, and in the heat of the midday sun it was perfect. Blankets had been placed on the grass, as plates stacked high with food had covered every inch of the table, including the seats, large pitchers of water and juices to accompany their meal took pride of place in the middle of the tables.

"So, what do we all think about the apology?" George asked his eyes dull, his voice hollow. His hand reached out to take a large scotch egg from a pile, as his family turned to him, ponderous.

"I think the media will be having a field day," Arthur answered first, his lips drawn in a thin line of concern as he loaded his own plate with sandwiches.

"Why?" Harry asked, turning to Arthur confused, "I mean, he did what was asked, he said sorry."

"He did, but he also revealed that life as a Death Eater for the Malfoy family wasn't simply about subscribing to the pureblood ideology. It may have been in the start, but no one really knew that Albus Dumbledore died because it had been ordered by Voldemort as a means to punish a child. That particular revelation will change the way Lucius Malfoy's trial will go, as all Draco has done is manage to raise sympathy for his father. The Malfoy family, and their actions at the final battle – switching sides, suddenly makes a lot more sense when you think about. They appear more family orientated, willing to do whatever it took to stay together, which is something many families can relate to now." Arthur spoke seriously, as Hermione listened carefully, and Harry's face twisted in to a pained expression.

"Do you think it was wise of him to reveal what he did?" Hermione asked Arthur, as Molly poured several glasses of strawberry juice for them all.

"In one way, yes. In another, no. He was right that he could not have given an apology without explaining why he did it. What he did, with no context, was truly terrible. He almost killed a student if I recall correctly, however, explaining why shows he wasn't just a spiteful, stupid boy on a quest to cause as much harm as possible. I say no because other families will now be turning to their own children, wondering if they were forced to do anything they didn't want to in the war, as many families were split, on the run, in hiding. When a family as powerful as the Malfoy's were unable to stick together and help one another, how could other, lesser known and far less influencial families have fared?"

A silence, loud and uncomfortable settled over them all, and tightness developed once more in Hermione's centre. It was like her organs were tying knots with one another, completely unwilling to let go of one another. Ginny sighed noisily, and what appeared to be deliberately, as she raised her wand in the air.

"Enough of this, Quidditch anyone? We won't have a chance to be too silly tomorrow." She asked as a low hum came ever louder, a rickety old broom flew towards her with the speed of a disorientated slug.

"Why, what's tomorrow?" Asked Ron, clearly dumbfounded. George promptly pelted him with the remains of his scotch egg, and left for indoors, taking food with him as he went. Molly began to sob loudly, as Ginny's jaw dropped.

"Ron, for fuck sake." She said, alarmed. "We're burying Fred. We spoke about this as a family, not even two days ago."

"Merlin." Ron answered, as the sounds of Molly's tears made the ball in Hermione's stomach ever tighter.


	6. Earth

The morning of Fred's funeral dawned upon the Burrow with a sense of foreboding. The previous day had seen George spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in the room he'd used to share with Fred. The odd explosion would shake the house with such a force pictures in their frames would shake on the walls, plates cracking in the cupboards. No one had paid it any heed. It wasn't any of their places to tell George what he couldn't do.

Ginny hadn't spoken to Ron, the disgust evident every time she caught a glimpse of her elder brother. Molly had vanished to the kitchen and stayed there, physically cleaning every surface over and over again, her cheeks stained with tears.

A faint knocking was at the door of Ginny's room, the taps were gentle, clearly not Ron, but as Hermione woke she noticed Ginny's bed was empty, the sheets practically untouched.

"Hello?" She asked, sitting up slowly, expecting Ginny to enter. The door opened, and George came in, his stocky frame shy, nothing like Hermione had ever seen before.

"George," She said in surprise, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, and expecting the lone twin to morph into another brother. He did not and instead perched tentatively on the edge of Hermione's bed.

"Hey," he began, his voice torn, "I was wondering…" He swallowed, and draped his head in his hands. Hermione pulled the blankets off her a little, leaning towards him curiously. "Look, I need your help, and I don't want you to judge me for this. I just need you to listen, and I need you to help me with it. I already have Harry's help, but right now that isn't enough." George spoke seriously, his eyes boring into Hermione's, imploring her to keep quiet for the time being.

"What is it George." She spoke quietly, watching as the sunlight came in through the curtains, a lone sliver of it illuminating the figure at the end of her bed.

"When Fred was alive, we joked about things you know, all kinds of things, but one of them was what we'd do when we died. If one of us went before the other. We heard about some muggle, apparently he wants his ashes fired out of a cannon and we both just agreed that would be how we wanted to go. Only-"

"You can't find a cannon as they're a weapon." Hermione surmised, "So you want Harry and I's help to find some other way of launching Fred into space."

"Yes," George admitted, looking utterly relieved.

"I assume your fireworks aren't good enough for some reason?" She asked, as a fresh dawn broke across George.

"They didn't even occur to me…" he sighed, looking defeated. "I was thinking of everything else, but nothing was right."

"I'm not surprised; I doubt any of us have been able to think clearly lately."

"Thanks, that does make me feel better." He smiled weakly, "So how do you suggest I do it?"

"I assume you cremated Fred?"

"There's no way I'd attach anybody as handsome as mine to a firework." George replied bluntly as Hermione grinned at him, relieved a small amount of the twins famous humour was still intact.

"Then I'd get some of his ashes in a very small pouch and tie it to the stick of the firework." Hermione suggested, as George nodded in understanding.

"Thank you, genuinely Hermione, thank you. I was also meant to tell you that Andromeda will be arriving with Teddy soon, apparently they have an auror babysitting Narcissa so she can come to the funeral."

A lump had developed thickly in Hermione's throat and she gasped weakly, unable to breathe properly, George looked at her alarmed, as tears swarmed to her eyes.

"Hermione?" George asked carefully, peering at his brother's best friend through concerned, grief stricken eyes. Hermione's own brown gaze was rapidly filling up with unspent tears, her mouth parting slightly as if she were about to say something.

"I can't do this George," she whispered, closing her eyes and expelling the tears finally, "I was deluding myself since battle finished. Trying to keep myself busy, shopping, seeing a healer, making up answers for that bloody Witch Weekly interview… I can't deal with this. I can't see Teddy." Hermione sobbed quietly; letting the tears spill little silver streams over her cheeks, her eyes now sparkling as she searched Georges' face for some kind of acknowledgement and understanding. To her relief, his expression matched hers, his own eyes tormented and grief written over the wry twist he gave his mouth.

"I can't do this without Fred." He gasped, and Hermione threw her arms around him, pulling the redhead onto the bed with her, cradled in her tearful embrace. Together they sobbed quietly; she rocked him like she would rock an infant, slow and gentle, their movements soothing the storms they'd been trying to block out. George's arms were wrapped tightly about her chest, she was held so close that her breath was long and deep, his hands entangled in the wildness of her hair, his head buried into her neck. She ran her own hands over his back, absently tracing patterns as she rocked them from side to side. Eventually, a sound at her door made her look up, only to meet the confused grimace of Ron.

"Mum says the both of you need to get downstairs. Andromeda's here." He managed to say, forcing George to let go of her as if she was toxic, and stood up immediately. Hermione nodded to Ron, and threw the blankets off her completely, swinging her legs as if to stand herself. Ron watched her for a moment, flicking his eyes between his brother and her a few times before his footsteps echoed down the stairs. George took her hand in his for a brief moment, squeezing it tight before letting it drop.

"Thank you," he whispered, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand, before following Ron down the stairs. "Andromeda!" he could be heard greeting, his voice abnormally loud and cheery. Hermione swallowed again, and changed into fresh clothes, breathing in the completely clean scent they failed to emit, a stark difference to all her clothes having a pungent tang to them before she'd thrown them all out.

She stumbled down the stairs, her mind reeling from the range of emotions she'd experienced since waking up. The smell of Molly's cooking breakfast was wafting throughout the house, but the sound of people in the kitchen was oddly absent, everything was still as if there was calm before a storm.

"I know it's so early Molly, I don't even think it's seven in the morning yet, but; I thought it was best to be here as long as I could today, especially considering I've Teddy, and when the auror office said they'd send someone at any time I wanted-"

"No, don't be silly, it's wonderful to have you today, even this early," Molly was saying, a hint of fuss to her tone as the very first signs of life came into being. The voices were coming from the kitchen, but to her shock Hermione noticed that the majority of those awake were staring, dumbfounded at someone by the fireplace. Hermione's eyes fell onto Harry immediately, a tiny child was in his grasp, his green eyes were wide and staring, transfixed upon the minute fingers clasped about his little finger, his skin was whiter than white, the lightning bolt scar the only colour to his figure.

He looked terrified.

He looked to her, slowing on the last step of the stairs, as the child in his arms snuffled gently. George was stood right behind the sofa, his hands placed upon the back of the worn furniture to support him, his jaw slack. Ginny was sitting, half asleep with a blanket pulled over her legs in an armchair just by the fireplace, her eyes resting easily upon Harry. Ron, his mouth twisted with disgust was by the kitchen, his jealous gaze upon his brother.

"You know, I've never seen a baby earn such a reaction from people before." Andromeda announced, appearing behind Ron, a banana casually being peeled, her wild hair a contrast to her amused smile.

"He's like me." Said Harry, his voice barely higher than a whisper.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that," Andromeda replied, as Molly stepped around her, making towards the coffee table with a large bowl of fruit.

"He's got no parents." Harry said just as quietly as before, while Teddy yawned largely. Harry had started to look the infant over staring at the child's minute features. "It's my entire fault. I'm so sorry."

"Harry James Potter," Ginny growled, just as Andromeda threw her hands up in the air, rolling her eyes back so far into her head Hermione was sure she'd been briefly knocked out by something.

"Oh you stupid boy," Andromeda sighed, as Teddy began to cry, noticing the change of atmosphere in the room. Ginny, who'd been half asleep moments before was now wide awake, on her feet, her hair crackling with her famous temper.

"But he's all alone, like me." Harry breathed.

A sharp resounding crack split Hermione's ear drums as the sudden silence that followed it dropped on them with the weight of several sphinxes.

"How dare you." Ginny hissed at Harry, a red mark on his cheek where she had hit him, abruptly she turned on her heal and fled through the house, doors slamming as she left, her rage still sparking in the room despite her absence. No one made to follow her, experience had taught them well to leave her to her mood until it died, lest be hit with a bat-bogey hex that was increasing with power each year she grew older.

Teddy started to wail in earnest, causing Molly to sigh and take the babe from Harry, ready to comfort him instinctually. Andromeda was watching Harry, an upset glimmer to her eyes.

"Harry…" Hermione said unsure, her insides churning with the shock at what he had just said.

"No, I get it." George stopped her, his eyes fixed on Harry and he nodded once, a genuine understanding shared between the look they gave each other.

"Well I'm fucking glad someone does, because what he just said was-"

"Ron!" Molly chided immediately, "I'm sure Harry didn't mean it that way."

"He didn't." George defended as Harry began to look ashamed.

"I really didn't Mrs Weasley." He spoke quietly, wringing his hands in front of him as he looked at the floor.

"He has a family Harry, he has his Grandmother at least, and he'll always have us; you his God-father, and Hermione. I've always had two daughters and seven sons, and now its two daughters and eight sons. You can't choose who your family are but sometimes you're lucky enough to pick them." Mrs Weasley told him gently as Hermione started, her lower lip wobbling for the second time that day, and unable to contain it she cried openly. George nodded to her sympathetically, as Molly handed Andromeda back her grandchild, and went to embrace Hermione. Ron had started to openly scowl at his brother, a move not unnoticed by Hermione and the now extremely familiar emotion of confusion settled over her shoulders as she leant into Molly's hug.

"The war has been difficult on us all," Andromeda spoke quietly, rocking Teddy gently as his hair rocketed through Harry's black shade, to Hermione's brown, and the different red hues of the Weasleys before changing again to the grey tones of his Grandmothers. Teddy looked with uncomprehending eyes at the warm but grieved expression on his guardians face and wailed again. A silence save for Teddy's cries lingered upon the family, all accepting the truth of Andromeda's words before anyone could think to say anything else.

"No, you're right, I always thought of Hermione as a sister, but for some reason I never realised you'd always treated me like one of your own. I never meant…" Harry spoke, his voice cracking slightly.

"You were my son the moment Ron and the twins," she swallowed her lower lip wobbling with the effort of not sobbing, "stole their fathers stupid car and travelled across the country to get you." She told him, stroking Hermione's hair possessively.

"I just meant-"

"About blood relatives, he'll never know his parents, like any kids of ours won't know their uncle Fred," George said, tears dribbling down his cheeks, "I understand Harry."

Harry nodded at George, unable to look at him properly, as George messily wiped away the tears that he'd cried. Molly looked as though she understood Harry finally as she watched George cry and she slumped onto Hermione, who wrapped her arms tighter about her magical mother comfortingly. Andromeda breathed out deeply, her expression heartbroken. Ron however, was still watching Hermione and George with a suspicious glare.

"Right, come, to the kitchen. Breakfast. Bill and Fleur will be arriving soon, and we need to get this house all clean and the garden set up for tonight." Molly announced abruptly, releasing Hermione with a squeeze and dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. She bustled past Andromeda and Ron, flicking her wand as she went, the ingredients for pancakes flying out the cupboards and throwing themselves into one of the largest mixing bowls Hermione had ever seen.

George turned around, looking towards Hermione pointedly, and gesturing politely that she should go first for breakfast. She smiled warmly at him, ignoring his flushed cheeks, and puffy eyes, fresh from crying and walked by a near fuming Ron.

:: :: ::

Breakfast had been like they were at Hogwarts once more. Every conceivable type of breakfast food had appeared at one time or another, Molly's non-stop cooking filling the table the moment someone had finished a plate of eggs, or bacon, or waffles.

A stream of washing up had followed immediately after, to which Molly had announced a house clean would start like there had been before Bill and Fleurs' wedding. Ron had stood up immediately excusing himself, saying he'd go and buy the candles as he knew they were running low. Molly had accepted this, with a brisk nod of her head, as Ginny pulled herself up from the table clearly unwilling. If there was anything good to come of this, it would be that finally, they could all use magic to help.

Every window in the house had been opened, allowing for a breeze to blow in freshening up the insides of the cosy Burrow, as Charlie apparated on the front door step, a knowing look upon his dragon burned features. He withdrew his wand immediately, casting housecleaning charms so efficiently Hermione stopped her own cleaning of the curtains in wonder. Charlie greeted her with a grin that reminded her of Ron, and called for his mother, knowing she would not be pleased if he didn't say hello properly.

Moments later, Bill and Fleur arrived, her heavily pregnant and glowing. Bill kissed her cheek as they landed in the fire place and helped her out, before whispering something in her ear, noticing the deep clean that Hermione was performing. He raised his hand to her, before sweeping into the kitchen much like Charlie had. Ginny came from down the stairs, a bundle of sheets in her hands, and upon noticing Fleur, flushed a wonderful crimson colour Hermione hadn't expected, an expression of resolve developing. Ginny dumped the fabrics on the floor unceremoniously, and shoved her hands into her pockets, looking for the entire world as if she did not want to do something, but must.

"Fleur," She began, watching as her pregnant sister in law attempted to gracefully lower herself on to the sofa, "I need to apologise to you." Ginny said seriously, as Hermione's jaw dropped.

"I have treated you terribly the past few years. I called you names, and I essentially blocked you from being a part of this family, and I am very sorry for it. I should never have done it. I can't explain my behaviour; I don't really know where it came from anymore. Perhaps I was jealous, and I didn't approve of you. I think I thought you would never fit into this family. Only, I was wrong, and I've always been wrong. I'm sorry. I am very proud to call a woman like you my sister in law." Ginny said, looking more and more relieved as each word came out of her mouth, her stance relaxing as Fleur watched her carefully, an amused smile creeping on to her lips.

"Oh oo' could 'ave blamed you!?" Fleur laughed, waving a dismissing hand into the air, "I was a 'orror back to you! Eef anything, I am just as proud to call you my seester. You are very fierce." Fleur acknowledged, her eyes glittering with pure delight that managed to enhance her beauty, with a sickening drop in her throat Hermione realised that she'd been a part of the poor treatment of Fleur, and it could no longer be considered an acceptable way to behave towards the woman, if it could ever have been called acceptable.

Fleur had willingly placed her own family in danger the weeks she'd homed a small rescue party that had made her tiny cottage become drastically over crowded. She'd fed them, cleaned up after them, all with minimal fuss. She'd kept their secrets. She was not the vapid, insipid princess that she had originally expected her to be. After all, the Tri-Wizard cup had chosen her for a reason. Shame burst to life in the depths of Hermione's soul, coursing through her veins and chilling her. A cold sweat broke out upon her forehead, and she swallowed the bitter pill that was her pride.

"You need to add my apology to that too Fleur," Hermione said as Fleur looked up at her clearly surprised. "I never called Ginny out when she called you names, and I joined in, but the time when you looked after us all a few weeks ago I-"

"Oh eet ees all ok!" Fleur smiled, once more waving a hand in the air dismissively. "We cannot judge on past beehaveeours, else we will never move forward. What ees done ees done." Only her eyes were welling up with tears, her teeth glittering as she smiled so wide. Ginny leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, before darting upward again.

"Breakfast?" She asked her sister, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I'll bring you something if you've not eaten." Fleur looked positively delighted, and Hermione used all her effort to look away from the beautiful woman and focus on cleaning the curtains.

:: :: ::

Crying was the emotion of the day.

As the house became steadily cleaner, along with the garden, Hermione had stopped to wipe away her tears on more than one occasion. Fleur had waddled as best she could around, handing each of them fresh tissues, and helping to cook as much as she was able. Eventually, Bill took her to the garden, where she stayed under a tree by the pond, Teddy in her arms and cooing at him delightedly, as he twirled her moonlight hair about his minute fingers.

Charlie had walked up to Bill with a butterbeer, and congratulated him on having such a beautiful wife, and a wonderful expectant mother, as Bill had beamed with pride. George had accosted Ron, who wore a look of fury and distress upon his freckled features, and the pair of them tied hundreds of tiny pouches to fireworks of every conceivable size.

Andromeda and Percy were placing the candles Ron had bought outside, grouping different sized ones together near tables and chairs, and lighting them. Some had a pungent tang to them, and Hermione noted that no insect would go near them.

Each of them, all of those cleaning, cooking, organising, were to be found sobbing at various times in the day. Tears running silently down cheeks, or secreted into tissues and sleeves, or let to drip off their chin, on to the ground below unapologetically. Ginny had given up on wiping away her cries, and as she flitted about, throwing broken things out, and replacing bed sheets, she left little splashes where she went.

Eventually, the guests began to arrive. The front door remained open, and the living room had a never ending stream of people flooing into it. Arthur stood in his hallway, shaking the hand of each solemn well-wisher, and directing them to the garden, past the smell of food and drink, where they could talk and see George.

Harry had kept his distance from Ginny all day, much to Hermione's disappointment, and was instead leaning against the wall of the Burrow as guests walked past him, into the garden, drink or food in hand. Hermione had eventually come to join him, preferring the quiet as the Weasleys began to be surrounded by those offering love from the deepest parts of their beings.

Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet had both arrived, with Angelina Johnson, who had swiftly walked to George and pulled him into a powerful hug. Katie and Alicia on the other hand, had both dissolved into hysterical sobs at the sight, and were inconsolable. Oliver Wood had turned up not long after the girls, and Harry had finally walked over, eager to speak of Quidditch, or anything, anything but Fred.

Lee Jordan appeared, crates full of butterbeer and firewhiskey with him, and had promptly taken to handing people a drink of their choice. Hermione had accepted a butterbeer, and Lee handed one to her, kissing her on the cheek as he did so.

"I'm so sorry for your families' loss," he muttered in her ear as he pulled back, and Hermione had found herself completely unable to answer instead raising her bottle to him in speechless gratitude. Lee understood, and he left her with a sympathetic smile to offer a drink to Luna who had drifted into the back garden, her head hanging back dreamily, her mouth wide with awe.

Members of the D.A began to appear, Cho, her arm in a sling, and the only person to force Harry back to Hermione's side at the wall. Ernie; a large bandage across his face. The Patil twins, who looked as though they'd been crying as much as Hermione had been, and she suspected it had more to do with Lavender than Fred. News about her was like gold dust. Hannah and Neville arrived together, both splattered with pale bruises, and were overheard thanking George for inventing bruise paste.

McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and other Hogwarts teachers arrived, with Hagrid, who had sought out Harry immediately, to wrap him in a bone splintering hug. Harry had held him tightly back, not caring that his glasses were knocked askew from his face.

On and on came the well-wishers and those who wanted to say goodbye. People from the ministry, people Arthur knew, people Molly knew, people George and Angelina knew. In the quiet chatter a soft lullaby was being sung, and Fleur, her hair rippling in the soft evening breeze was rocking Teddy to sleep, who had been staring, wide eyed at the gathering.

Eventually, Molly left the kitchen, the stream of food coming to a stop, Andromeda at her side, her arm slipped through the Weasley matriarchs in a show of support. The front door was closed, and with a final, ear splitting crack as Shacklebolt arrived, his expression apologetic, with a bouquet of perfect, white lilies, it was clear all who was expected to turn up – had.

:: :: ::

The sun was finally beginning to set, blooming its pinks and golds over the sky; the orange hues that seemed to linger a moment longer than the other shades, a love song to the lost Weasley. Finally, the sun vanished beneath the skyline, and Percy began to light candles, setting them up to float above their heads, bathing them all in soft tangerine glow, as the flowers became illuminated, throwing intricate shadows over the garden.

The stars started to sparkle, the night sky inky over the orange hued garden below the moon. Arthur Weasley tapped his wine glass with a fork abruptly, unable to look anyone in the eye. The notes rang out, sharp and true, as the friendly, subdued chatter laid itself to rest. The gathered guests turned, respectfully towards Arthur, in heartbroken anticipation.

"George," Molly whispered, nodding towards her grief stricken child, handing the ceremony over to him as the final words of chatter went into the night. He cleared his throat, stepping forward to where the fireworks had been placed into the ground, cordoned off by a levitating ribbon. His red hair fell into his eyes as his head fell, his gaze on the fireworks as he took in a deep, shuddering breath.

"I don't know what to say," He said quietly, "you were my brother, my best friend, you were my business partner. You were always there and now you're not. I love you Fred." He whispered, tapping his wand on the fuse of the fireworks.

They launched into the sky, leaving trails of red, orange, yellow, purple, blues, greens and pinks. The famed Weasleys Whiz-bangs carved spirals and stars against the back drop of the night, silver dust shimmered in front of them, seeming to dance in the sky. The gathered crowd gasped, murmuring in surprise and approval.

"I think I know what to say George; your brother: he was brave." Shacklebolt said as he watched the firework display. His wand was raised, and all of a sudden his lynx patronus burst from its tip, running up into the fray of colour; jumping with glee.

"Intelligent, although you were both loathe to admit it," McGonagall added, as her tabby cat slipped forth and pounced onto Shacklebolts lynx.

"Kind." Hermione heard her own voice say, hypnotised by the beautiful and unexpected funeral George was holding for his twin. Her otter shook itself off, before swimming upwards and paddling around a blue stream of sparks.

"Loyal," Harry's voice joined from beside her, his stag effortlessly proud as it cantered towards the playing lynx and tabby.

Before long, the patronuses of those gathered swam about the night, shimmering different colours on their backs from the seemingly never ending pops of fireworks. Cho's swan played with Hermione's otter, whilst Ginny's horse galloped with Harry's stag. Ron's terrier nipped at the heels of McGonagall's cat, and chased Luna's hare.

The lone words for Fred were being whispered into Georges' ear as he hung his head in remembrance, his wand alight and in the air, his tears dripping onto his shoes. Soon, others followed suit, holding their wands aloft and bright as the candles died out and coloured streams of the fireworks began to fade. The patronuses began to shimmer away between the stars, as finally, George added his word.

"Loved." He whispered, and let his wand go out.


	7. Work

The letter was tied with the rather regal ribbon of the Ministry of Magic, the wax seal a deep, rich purple, it's embossed 'M' stand out.

The owl had arrived at breakfast, shaking itself off impatiently, his leg stuck out abruptly demanding that Draco relieved him of his duty immediately. He'd done so, and the eagle owl, with all its air of self-importance flew away the moment the parchment had left it. Draco curled his lip in annoyance at the animal; at least his own owl had the dignity to wait.

He unfurled the letter, taking care to deliberately smash the wax seal, and felt his heart plummet in his chest, through the floor, and continue dropping into the depths of the world.

 _Dear Mr Draco Malfoy_ , it read,

 _I am writing to alert you to the date of a Mr Lucius Malfoy's trial. It will be held in courtroom one, at 9am sharp, on the tenth of May, 1998._

 _You will be expected to attend._

 _Expect two Aurors, Miss Ava Brett and Mr Luca Greensworth to collect you from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry at exactly 8:30am, they shall accompany you throughout the day._

 _Good wishes,_

 _Miranda Coppergrove,  
Secretary to the Minister of Magic._

The trial was in a couple of days, hardly any time to prepare something, anything if he could, to help his father. If anything _could_ help his father. He swallowed thickly, his tongue thick and slimy in his mouth, his fingers suddenly as heavy as lead.

He doubted if anything could help.

His stomach twisted as he realised he was expected to attend. He would be collected like a prized pet and made to sit at his own fathers' trial. He was going to be forced to watch the man who raised him be sentenced to the kiss, or whatever other punishment they could think of. It was another step in his public humiliation. He'd already bared his soul, now he had to watch the real destruction of his family. They were already forced to live apart.

He sighed inwardly, unwilling to let McGonagall who was poring over great reams of parchment of various lengths and a rather old, dusty tome, her fingers ink stained, see that he was putting up any sign of a fuss.

If there was one thing he'd discovered, given the events of the past year, and more tellingly, the past week; it was that he needed Hogwarts.

The castle had remained in a tragic state since the war. Nothing had changed since the final event, yet, as he remained at the school under house arrest, he'd been free to do as he pleased. The portraits that had managed to stay mainly damage or spillage free, had watched him roam about at night, following him as best they could, some desperate for conversation; wanting to know when their friends would be back. If they'd return at all.

He'd gone to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, and offered her his help in returning it to its normal, overly clean, clinical state. He'd offered a pair of his own house elves to help clean the wing, and upon summoning, the pair had both grumbled delightedly; an odd thing to overhear. They'd been so happy to have somewhere new to clean that the entire place had sparkled by the end of the day. The floor was so pristine that Draco had been able to see his pale, drawn face in the stone. The beds had been re-dressed, and he'd ordered an entire ten years of medical supplies to the school.

Madam Pomfrey had smiled widely for a three whole days afterwards. It had fixed something small inside him however, safe in the knowledge that the one place he could go to should something awful happen was fixed and perfect; a little sanctuary should he require it.

The common room remained a mess, but it was comforting. The plush slytherin green sheets of his four poster was comforting. The hallways were comforting. The walk down to the lake was comforting. Everything about Hogwarts was a balm to soul. He needed Hogwarts.

The last thing he wanted was to be unable to return to it; he needed one last year at the school. The idea of the adult world, with its trials and tribulations was terrifying. He wasn't going to put a single toe out of line lest he be forced to face the disdain of those his family had wronged.

For the millionth time since his sixth year, he felt like a very young child. Wanting sanctuaries and safe spaces. If only the world would let him have it. In just a couple of days, he'd be sitting in a lion's den. Not a single safe space to run to.

:: :: ::

Breakfast at the Burrow had been a rather sedate affair. After all the tears spilt the night before, they'd awoken, eyes puffier than usual, their skin blotchy and raw. Owls had fluttered into the kitchen, bringing them news, and updates from both McGonagall and Shacklebolt. Harry had muttered something into Ginny's ear, who had promptly put her hand over his in a supportive manner, nodding encouragingly at him.

"Ah," Arthur said, his face twisting with pity, "I see the date for Lucius Malfoy's trial has been set, both his wife and son are expected to attend." He explained, as Molly looked at him curiously, her face expectant.

"They're expected to attend?" Ron asked dumbfounded, "but aren't they under house arrest in two different places? What on Merlin's green earth could they do at the trial?"

"Watch," Molly chided her son, her ever thinning face pulled into disapproval, "surely we made it clear to you earlier that the Malfoy family is going to made into an example of sorts now that the war is over?"

"What?" Hermione found herself asking, alarm ringing through the lone syllable like a bell.

"The Malfoy family are one of the oldest wizarding families in history. They date back centuries and they've preached pure-blooded values for as long as we can all remember. They've prided themselves on being pure-blooded, rich, and consistently in powerful positions. Now that the war is over, who better to show the rest of the world that being pure-blooded isn't all it's cracked up to be. They've made themselves a very nice bed to lie in, and they all know they're going to have to endure it." Bill explained fairly, picking up a bowl of granola to sprinkle into his yoghurt.

"I don't see how anyone could consider making an example out of anyone else acceptable." Hermione said stand offishly, as Ron made a choking sound.

"Marrietta Edgecoombe," he reminded her as she flushed, her grip about her spoon tightening.

"I'm not going to pretend what you're on about," Arthur interjected, clearly uncomfortable with what was transpiring, "but Bill is right, Merlin it would be good to have Remus with us, he'd explain this better than I could. The Malfoy family switched sides, now, that should seem all well and good, they saw the light in the end and all that, but in reality, they've just made themselves appear more untrustworthy. Yes, they have put themselves forward as being relatable, a mother willing to defy the most dangerous dark wizard of the time just to see her son, and to keep her family together, but their actions beforehand have been deplorable." Arthur said to Hermione, passing Bill a small bowl of strawberries and raspberries as Harry looked at him with a clearly tormented expression. It was a look Hermione had seen on his face far too often lately, and she made a mental note to speak to him about it.

"I believe we don't have to tell you what Lucius Malfoy alone has done to this family, the worst of it unfortunately affecting Ginny," Ginny flinched slightly, as Bill continued to speak, "and we are not the only family affected. Stories of his bullying and intimidation are wide spread; most of which he justified because he was rich and pure-blooded. People are going to want to see him punished, and his family taught a lesson. Shacklebolt is doing everything he can to not let riots break out and-"

"This is the best way he's found? To force the Malfoy family essentially watch itself being destroyed?" Hermione replied clearly agitated for a reason she couldn't quite explain, Ron stared at her open mouthed, as George looked to Ginny a questioning look within his eyes.

"What would you suggest, they all get the kiss?" Bill asked her calmly, "It's been on the front page of the Daily Prophet, news of all the Death Eater trials, and what the public would like to see as punishment. The kiss has been alarmingly popular to Kingsley's dismay."

A fire burst within Hermione like a volcano. Her blood seared from the rage that had exploded out of nowhere and she clenched her fists furiously, her eyes livid.

"Well of course people would like more death after a war. Of course people are only out for themselves and vengeance. Of course. How silly of me to think after the majority of us witnessed our friends and relatives get murdered or having to kill other people ourselves that we might actually want to work together towards being a better society. Merlin's great hairy balls I had hoped we'd be better than that." Hermione fumed, before a great swell of sadness over took her and she leaned back in her chair, letting her head hang back for a brief moment. Unsure what had just come over her. Molly patted her shoulder comfortingly, seeming to understand her riotous emotions, whilst both Ginny and Harry watched her carefully, a thoughtful expression crossing onto Harry's for a brief instant, before flickering a way like a candle being blown out.

A new owl flew clumsily into the kitchen, and oversized newspaper strapped to its leg. It knocked over a jug as it made its way to the table, causing Ron to swear as his jeans became soaked in pumpkin juice. Percy jumped up immediately to relieve the exhausted owl from its burden, and the moment Percy had dropped a sickle into its leg pouch it fell asleep, resting upon Percy's hand as if it were a perch. The third eldest Weasley child looked uncomfortable, as George, dully amused at his brother's predicament, took the bundle from him.

He unfurled it, before recoiling in horror, a look of disgust plain on his face.

"Looks like the Malfoy's aren't the first wizarding family of Britain anymore," he cringed, his ears tinging scarlet with his embarrassment.

"What makes you say that?" Ginny asked tentatively, watching her brother's expression with apprehension, as if she knew the answer already but didn't want to see or hear it. George turned the paper around so its front cover was plain for all to see.

It was bright red, with _'Witch Weekly'_ emblazoned on the top in Gryffindor gold, but what had caused George to recoil so drastically was the picture of the entire Weasley family, complete with both laughing twins. The headline blared at them, in the same gold as the title, " _Britain's No. 1 Family!_ " The Weasley's in the picture were smiling and waving, all looking as proud as they could be at the declaration, as a horrified, embarrassed silence descended over the kitchen.

"What is it?" Ginny spoke straightforwardly, unwilling to touch the magazine and find out herself.

"It has a countdown," Ron announced looking just as disgusted as George had done a moment before.

"A count down to what?"

"Oh let me guess, Harry's issue," Ginny sighed, as George flicked open the pages to discover how much worse it could all get.

"You're not wrong Ginny." George announced, "this first bumper issue is just an introduction to the new most influential wizarding family in Britain. The next issues in the coming two weeks will cover them each individually, with exclusive interviews, and pictures. Then, we take a look at Draco Malfoy, the bad boy with an unpredictable future, before dipping into the world of Hermione Granger, the muggleborn with beauty and brains, before finally, telling you everything you didn't know about Harry Potter." George read, as the family fell into an awkward silence.

"You want to change things Hermione?" Bill eventually asked into the quiet.

"Of course," She said as if he had taken leave of his intelligence.

"Then go to the trial of Lucius Malfoy." He said completely seriously.

"I could do that?"

"You're Hermione Granger, you could let a manticore loose in the ministry, and you'd be pardoned and given money most likely." Bill said seriously, "more importantly, if you want to change the way the wizarding world is behaving right now, go shame them. Go do something none of them would expect you to do. Go sit as close as you can to Draco Malfoy, and look like you're supporting him."

"But wouldn't that just make the press think that Hermione was romantically interested in him?" Ron asked, looking as if he'd rather eat a bowl of hippogriff excrement than imagine Draco and Hermione together.

"Not if I went too," Harry answered, as Hermione looked at him shocked.

"You'd go with me?"

"Remember what you said to me about you needing to be at Hogwarts and me at the Ministry? I think it's already starting." He told her plainly, as Ginny squeezed his hand, sensing his distress that Hermione thought he couldn't quite place.

"You really think that us two being there would change things?"

"How could it not," Arthur answered as Molly nodded seriously, "two of the Golden Trio sitting at the trial of one of the biggest criminals, and sitting close to his son. After he apologised, legally required to or not, that you two would be willing to sit so close to him and not ostracise him would be a very big thing indeed. There are already debates about where he'd work after his stint in Azkaban; people are taking bets on what he'll be able to do in his future, not what he can't."

"Is it truly that bad for the Malfoy family?" Hermione asked quietly, confusion thick and heavy about her heart.

"Yes." Molly answered her, looking into her eyes seriously, a sadness that had never been there before dark and powerful. Hermione looked at Harry, who nodded back to her, confirming what she already knew.

If they were serious about what they'd said, about everything they knew was coming, they'd both have to go to this trial.

"If anything, you may actually learn something about Draco Malfoy that you didn't before," Molly said, attempting to console the two stony faced adopted members of her family.

"I'm not going, fuck that." Ron said moodily as Ginny sighed at him audibly.

"I think I need to go for a walk," Hermione announced, feeling clouds in her mind, completely obscuring her thoughts.

"Of course, we'll see you when you return, or if you don't, tomorrow at Hogwarts for the memorial service for Tonks and Lupin." Arthur said understanding, as Hermione rose, the last of her breakfast finished. She smiled weakly, and turned away from Ron who was looking at her with a longing, furious expression. Ginny nodded to her, meaning that they'd talk later to one another and she returned it, suddenly desperate for the conversation with her to happen now, but knowing, knowing that she'd have nothing to say.

She left the kitchen, striding into the warm morning and apparating the moment she walked past the boundary, to Hogwarts.

:: :: ::

"You ," he said, not expecting the word to come out with as much venom as it had done, but it disguised the odd jolt of delight he'd felt in the middle of his heart the moment he'd spotted her messy russet head walking towards him with a torn look upon her face.

"Me," she agreed, nodding, twisting her hands about one another in front of her, unwilling to make eye contact with him. She was wearing a pale blue sun dress that fell just above her knees, a thin cardigan thrown over the top to keep out the breeze that had a distinctly winter like bite to it. Her complexion was healthier than it had been since the last time he'd seen her, a glow had returned to it, one that reminded him of the way the sun illuminated even the dullest of things. Her hair had been scraped up into a messy bun at the back of her head, and escaping tendrils made her look girlish, yet mature at the same time.

She continued to twist her hands nervously, unwilling or unable to turn her chocolate coloured eyes towards him, and he sat down on the grass outside the castle expectantly.

"What is it Granger, you're making me think I need to call someone with a straight jacket for you."

"Harry and I, we're..." She trailed off, steeling herself for the words that were to come, as he felt himself sit up straighter, his eyes narrowing. She looked to him, just as he was about to open his mouth, goading her into telling him, until the expression on her features stopped him. She looked the way she always did when in class and she was right about something. Not smug, never smug, but sure of herself, confident. She was going to do it right.

"Your father's trial. Harry and I are going to attend, and we're going to sit next to you." She told him, making it clear there would be absolutely no way about it, or out of it, that was how it was going to be.

"Why." He stated suspiciously.

"Have you seen any news lately?" She asked him, relaxing, sitting down in front of him. She crossed her legs and pulled her skirt down her thighs, smoothing out the fabric before allowing her hands to trail in the grass playfully.

"No, I've rather enjoyed living in the dark," he lied, remembering the shame of the letter earlier, such news had always been told to his family in person. He'd grown up used to seeing the Minsiter of Magic in his living room or entrance hall, waiting for his father. The letter had been a slap in the face, a reminder that he, a Malfoy, was no longer relevant or in favour. He'd fallen in the world.

"Well... I can't say I blame you," She admitted, "I don't want to know any of it myself, but, we were told at breakfast that if we wanted any part in the wizarding world, we'd do our best to be at your trial and by your side specifically, so we'll be there."

"Why am I getting the distinct feeling you're not telling me the truth?" He asked her, probing.

"I may be paraphrasing, but the gist of it is if you are to have a future Malfoy, you need Harry and I." She told him, the honesty in her words a blade pushed into his skin with each syllable and set alight. He was a werewolf, and her words were silver. His lip curled instinctively, irritation bubbling up under his skin.

"Oh don't you dare be all 'no I don't' on me Malfoy!" Hermione suddenly cried, her expression as agitated as he felt, the sound of grass ripping as her hands tightened upon the ground.

"Well I-"

"Do." She interrupted, as he glared at her furiously.

"Why in the world would I need you and Scarhead?" He demanded, his voice coming out a dangerous slither, a snake waiting for the right time to strike.

"Because today, a nice big, overly tasteless copy of _Witch Weekly_ just declared the Weasley's the most influential wizarding family in Britain, meaning your family have fallen from the top spot, and the general public are baying for your blood. If you want to be thrown to the wolves and have the options for your future shrink faster than your cock on a cold day, then I suggest you suck it up like Harry and I are doing and tolerate our presence." She replied smoothly, her own tone carrying the same lethal danger he'd spat at her, her eyes fixed upon his, hard and... excited? Something familiar filled him, warmth that he'd not experienced in a long while.

"Why are you doing this for me?" He stated, unwilling to break away from the eye contact she was maintaining, curiosity now ablaze within him, confusion at her excitement rampant in his thoughts.

"Because I did not sleep in a tent for a year without proper bathing so I could watch the wizarding world tear itself a part in its need for vengeance," she replied plainly, honestly. He felt himself relax, and he laughed suddenly, not expecting the sound of it. Hermione smiled, surprised, but her own posture released itself of tension he wasn't sure she was aware she'd been holding.

"Look at what's happened to the world," he smirked as Hermione laughed.

"Indeed, I think the war was just the start of it." She sighed and he fell silent, watching her carefully. They stayed sitting opposite one another, staring in the direction of Hagrid's hut, which was acquiring an ever growing pile of compost as the chilly breeze tussled at their clothing.

"I better go," Hermione said eventually, looking guilty.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he replied, turning to watch her leave. She paused, as if she'd been caught in a game of tag, and looked at him curiously.

"Tomorrow?" She asked a hint of alarm in her voice.

"McGonagall said there is a memorial service to be held here for our old Defence Professor, remember the Werewolf? And my aunt's kid, apparently they were both killed here, and my aunt wants to scatter their ashes here, why the teachers I don't know but I have to attend as one of them was family, and my mother will be here." He told her as she looked at him, more alarmed by the second.

"Yes, I remember Remus, and his wife, Tonks," She said quietly, and Draco felt a small flare of shame alight for a reason he couldn't quite locate. "Then, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, dipping her head in goodbye as she turned from him, her eyes misty and lost.

"Tomorrow," he repeated, watching her go, and feeling the loneliness embrace him once more.


	8. Sorrow

She hadn't returned to the Burrow after she'd spoken to Malfoy, instead she spent the day in the Gryffindor common room, reading. She'd found herself completely unable to go back to see the Weasley's. Ron had been unbearable, constantly scowling at her, or looking between herself and George with suspicion. Only the heavy blanket of loss they had all felt was beginning to feel smothering, and the brief moment she'd spent with Malfoy had been a breath of fresh air. It had made her feel guilty, and the idea of facing Molly and her kindness despite her overwhelming grief suddenly felt like betrayal.

The morning had come, and Hermione was fidgeting by the fireplace, tugging at the black dress she had chosen for the memorial service, smoothing her skirt down with an anxious sigh. Ginny had spoken to her briefly via the fire, sending her love and the message that she and Harry would collect her from the common room in the morning.

So she was waiting, a sickness filling up in her stomach.

It was another funeral today.

Another goodbye.

She bit her lip as the portrait swung open, and Ron clambered in first, his red hair even brighter against his black robes. Seeing him Hermione's sickness increased and she sighed, watching as Harry followed Ron in, a peculiar expression on his face yet again. He turned to help Ginny who was looking at Harry with a thoughtful, mildly agitated glimmer in her eyes, and the conversation they'd shared when they'd gone shopping floated to the fore front of her mind. She reluctantly thought there might have been something to it.

"'Mione," Ron said, an overly cheerful grin on his face considering the day, and flung his arms about her. She cringed inwardly at the nickname, whilst wrapping her arms about in him in a hug she hoped he'd translate as friendly. He squeezed, and she winced as he cut off her air supply, trapping her against him, possessively.

"Hermione," Harry said behind Ron, "we best get going; everyone else will be arriving soon." Hermione nodded, relieved, releasing Ron who didn't do the same.

"Ron," Ginny scolded, prying her brother off her, and pushing him away as he looked at her angrily, he dropped his arms however, and turned away like a wounded animal. Ginny rolled her eyes as Harry made to leave, gesturing to the girls to follow him.

Ginny slipped her arm in to Hermione's the moment they had passed the portrait, Harry had immediately taken up Ginny's other hand, and Ron attempted to sling his arm over Hermione's shoulders, but Ginny slapped him off, raising her brow threateningly.

The walk down went slowly, Harry's face becoming grim as they descended the floors of Hogwarts, stepping over the broken walls as had become habit.

"It's strange how much has happened and changed since the battle," Ginny began conversationally, watching birds fly over the forbidden forest in the distance, through a large hole in the outer castle walls.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, looking smug, "the Weasley's are officially better than the Malfoys, and we're rich. I've got a well-paying job, and so has Harry."

"Is that honestly all you can think about Ron, the downfall of the Malfoy's?" Ginny sighed, clearly disappointed, and Harry gave Hermione a side-long look as the two siblings began to snipe at one another.

"I don't think they've particularly suffered enough if I'm honest with you," Ron replied in a blasé manner as he stepped over yet another pile of rubble. "I mean, they've not really been punished. They're just under a trace and have to live apart. Only Daddy gets a trial. Why didn't Narcissa?"

"I hardly call being under a trace for two years lightly Ron," Ginny replied, her brows furrowed.

"She should've gone to Azkaban. She's a Malfoy; she's as bad as her husband and her ferret of a son." Ron retorted, his blue eyes beginning to glitter dangerously. "We can only hope his trial sentences him to the kiss, and we'll be one Malfoy free."

"Oh Merlin," Ginny said exasperated, as Harry's expression hardened.

"I've told you Ron. I asked Shacklebolt for leniency towards the Malfoy's. If it wasn't for Narcissa we'd all most likely be dead." Harry spoke darkly, his red scar bright red on his forehead. Ron scoffed, waving his hand in the air dismissively.

"Yeah, and I've told you you'll come to your senses." He replied nonchalantly, ignoring Harry's anger.

"Ron, Narcissa was willing to lie to Voldemort." Ginny said plainly, squeezing Harry's hand tightly in a comforting way.

"I-" Ron began attempting to defend himself.

"I don't want to hear a single insult about the Malfoy's come out of your mouth today Ronald. Both Narcissa and Malfoy are going to be at the memorial service today as Andromeda has asked for them to be there." Hermione interrupted her voice hard and exhausted.

"You're kidding." Ron answered, dumbstruck.

"I am not."

"That's actually quite nice of Andromeda," Ginny mused as Harry looked at her in surprise.

"You've got to be kidding me." Ron repeated, staring at his sister and Hermione as though their brains had been donated to the department of mysteries.

"They're not actually burying Tonks and Lupin here are they?" Ginny asked, attempting to change the topic of the conversation poorly.

"No, they're just scattering some ashes here, so that people could get to say their goodbyes. Dumbledore was a special case I believe," Hermione replied, her insides churning once more as they reached the last staircase before the entrance hall.

:: :: ::

They'd gathered by the hourglasses, the great timers filled with precious gems were broken; the floor had become a glittering sea of stones. In the middle of the entrance hall stood the Weasley family, Andromeda, with Teddy bundled into her arms, and McGonagall. They stood, sombre and silent as the sunlight from the outside warmed them slowly. For funerals chilled Hermione to the core.

"I really ought to do something about this," Minerva said, gesturing to the expensive mess about them.

"It's still your two week break if I remember," Molly answered with a pointed tone, an overly motherly expression upon her face.

"You're right, but I've been working non-stop through it anyway, there is far too much to do. I'll be needing help from everyone the moment the clean-up starts officially, we've been lucky to have Mr Malfoy help restore the hospital wing already, save the damage that can't be changed as of yet." She replied, but the second half of her answer sounded more like she was talking to herself, a ponderous note to her voice.

Hermione found herself listening in surprise. She hadn't thought to visit the hospital wing again for a while, she had her vitamix stock that she had been taking religiously, and hadn't a need to return. That it had been restored by Draco made her wonder about him.

"Oh I've time! We're still waiting for people anyway." McGonagall blurted, clearly stressed. She turned, and began an elaborate incantation with a graceful arc of her wand that Hermione watched fascinated, Ron began to inch closer to her as Teddy let out a gurgle. Streams of rubies began to gather about the Gryffindor timer, the glass sealed together with a slight lavender glow as the rubies began to tumble in. Flitwick arrived down the stairs, his own attire as dark as the night sky, and upon seeing Minerva in the midst of her ritual, hurried down the stairs faster; his wand appearing in his hand.

"Good job Minerva," he praised, standing beside her and falling into the same ritual as his colleague. Soon enough, the sapphires of Ravenclaw began to trickle into the hourglass as it repaired itself, the glow simmering over its surface. A moment later Minerva seemed to jerk out of her reverie, her wand slipping back into her pocket as she admired her houses point keeper with pride, she turned to see Flitwick in her pose moments before. She smiled warmly joined the group once more as Shacklebolt entered; apologies all over his face.

"Didn't mean to keep you waiting, but the Ministry…" he trailed off, an apologetic shrug given as Arthur waved it off.

"Don't be ridiculous Kingsley, I know how it must be," Arthur said sympathetically, as Kingsley gave him a brotherly slap on the back.

"It would be harder if I didn't have you there to make things go easier." Arthur flushed, a proud expression coming over him as Flitwick finished. McGonagall clapped her hands together, surveying the group as she opened her mouth to speak Andromeda stepped forward suddenly.

"Narcissa," She said, as Malfoy's mother was walked through the main doors of Hogwarts, two aurors in black robes either side of her. The Weasley's nodded at her looking clearly discomforted by her presence but it didn't seem to be a surprise to any of them. Harry was looking at her pointedly, awkwardly even, but Narcissa returned his gaze with a small, pained smile. It was enough for Harry who looked away, instead he kicked at a few of the yellow topaz on the floor, his shoes revealed under his jet black robes.

"Has my son arrived yet?" Narcissa asked Andromeda quietly, desperation in her voice, her hands outstretched towards her sister as if she were begging.

"No, not yet," Andromeda answered, as Molly took Teddy from her, a defensive stance over her ever diminishing stature. Teddy snuffled, rubbing his small face into Molly's shoulder as he slumbered, Fleur looking at him adoringly. Narcissa's shoulders slumped, obviously disappointed, and with a jolt Hermione realised that this was obviously the first time Narcissa would see her son since she'd witnessed the pair of them separated with no goodbye.

"The Malfoy's." Arthur deadpanned, clapping his hands together and giving them a quick rub. "Right-o" he finished, striding out the doors and towards Hagrid's before Molly could stop him. Bill, Fleur, gesturing for Charlie, George and Percy to do the same. Shacklebolt chuckled to himself, shaking his head, but the laughter didn't reach his eyes as Filius and Minerva left too, quietly exchanging glances between themselves and the aurors that guarded Narcissa. Shacklebolt cleared his throat pointedly, and the two aurors placed their hands upon Narcissa's elbows, guiding her out of the doors. She sighed clearly disappointed, but went without a fuss as Molly took her chance.

"Why?" Molly asked, stepping forwards, her eyes wide and confused, the faintest glimmer of the famous temper simmering on the surface of her skin.

"You should understand this best Molly," Andromeda pleaded, watching as Molly gently rocked Teddy; "they're the only blood relatives he has left besides me. He needs to meet them at least once. I need my sister… my family." She sighed, looking as though she was restraining herself, "Teddy will need more family than just an adopted one. He only has me. Goodness knows I won't be fun to be around when I really start to get old. He just needs a memory or two of people he is related to by blood. I would like to see if Narcissa and I can put our differences behind us and actually… possibly, be sisters again." She pondered aloud as Molly melted her lower lip wobbling.

"I can't promise I'll be civil, but… I'll try. I best tell the others to be on their best behaviour today." She sighed in defeat, scurrying out the doors and into the sun. Teddy still sleeping upon her shoulder. Hermione followed; her thoughts on the arching body of Bellatrix Lestrange, killed by Molly Weasley. Nothing had been said about her death, as though it was unspoken agreement that the best had happened.

:: :: ::

The path was bathed in sunlight, the steps needing some attention as the grass fought to reclaim them to natures grasp. She slipped, her arms shooting out to each side of her to steady herself, but a firm; unfamiliar grasp had already shot out to grab her.

"Steady there Granger," Malfoy purred, his hand tight about her wrist. He smirked at her, his winter eyes sparkling with mischief. His skin was softer than Hermione had expected, with callouses where one would normally hold a wand; she assumed they were also where someone would grip a broom. She realised that he was holding her up with one arm, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his suit as though she were an unruly toddler. She blushed, unaware of his apparent strength, he smiled slightly as he noted the pale rose flush she began to sport. He pulled her to her feet, gently, almost gentlemanly as Ron let out a furious snarl from behind them. Hermione sighed, throwing Malfoy an appreciative glance, and opening her mouth to speak as Ron's arm came hammering onto her wrist.

"Let go of her you filth." Ron spat, his face puce and contorted with rage. His grip on her broke immediately, and Hermione gasped with pain as Ron's fist collided with her wrist. Malfoy's eyes glittered with mirth and the faintest hint of irritation as he regarded Ron, Hermione's furious hissing amusing him further as she cradled her wrist.

"That _hurt_ Ronald." She interjected, not bothering to disguise the pain that had seeped into her tone. Malfoy had begun regarding his own wrist with a disinterested expression, but at the sound of Hermione's pained voice, his eyes checked her over; as if searching for a visible wound.

"I can't wait for you to go to Azkaban and die there. I hope you get the kiss." Ron was continuing, ignoring Hermione's chastising. "You're a complete piss taker. Calling her a mudblood, taking the Dark Mark then just coming here like nothing is wrong." Ron had moved closer to Malfoy, who had tucked both his hands into his pockets. He was looking Ron in the eye, his snow gaze set on Ron's blustering ocean blue. His face was still holding the disinterested expression, the unconcerned features seeming to fuel the fires of Ron's rage. Ron continued to close the gap between them both, hissing and spitting insults like an enraged cat, his fists clenched. Hermione studied Draco curiously; usually he would have started laughing, thrown a hex, or a punch; and insult at the very least. Then she saw it. The lone glimmer of weariness that sparkled in his eyes. He was tired of this.

Hermione thought back to the last time she'd really experienced Malfoy's viciousness. The obvious was when he'd ambushed her, but that was nothing unlike before. She couldn't remember a clear time in sixth year, and the seventh hadn't really counted. Had he matured during the war? It had most definitely taken its toll on everybody she had seen, but the effects it had had on her childhood bully began to fascinate her. Stray thoughts of if he had just changed techniques mingled with anger at Ron's behaviour.

He was just gearing up for a punch as Harry's voice interrupted.

"Ron, come on mate, not today." He said, clapping his hands down hard on his friend's shoulders. Ginny's conflicted expression hovering at his shoulder. Ron's fist froze, and he growled at Malfoy again. Malfoy took his cue, and nodded briefly to Hermione as she nodded back in thanks, before sauntering off down the path towards Hagrid's hut like absolutely nothing had happened, his platinum locks becoming gold in the sun.

"What was that about Hermione?" Ginny asked her, slipping her arm though her friends kindly, as Harry's hand encircled her other.

"I slipped, was probably going to take a tumble down to Hagrid's but Malfoy… Malfoy caught me… then Ron decided it would be a good time to smack us both as Malfoy was putting me on my feet again." She finished a thoughtful, irritated tone lacing together as her eyes became glued to the tall blond Slytherin further on down the path.

"At least he's not trying to start a fight," Harry said gruffly as Ron fumed beside him, "But I guess, considering his future hangs with McGonagall and Shacklebolt he wants to make the best impression." Harry continued, considering as he looked towards the boy he'd rebuffed so many years ago.

"This could be interesting," Hermione suddenly mused aloud, watching as Hagrid's hut came into view.

"What?" Ginny asked looking to Hermione curiously.

"Narcissa and her son are going to be re-united." Hermione answered as Ginny's eyebrows rose so high they vanished completely.

"Time to see if the Malfoy's are as completely emotionless as they like to portray," Ginny said, watching the gathered group curiously. The Weasley family had gathered around one area, George with his hand upon Fleur's stomach as the baby kicked her. They were both smiling broadly, as Bill watched her proudly. Percy, Ron and Molly were talking, as Percy spoke about Teddy in his normal, pompous tones.

McGonagall and Flitwick were speaking to one another about something that seemed important, as stress crackled between them. Shacklebolt was chatting to the aurors, as Narcissa watched the steps down to the grassy knoll like a hawk.

Eventually, Draco walked into Narcissa's view, his hands in his pockets as he sloped down the steps, his posture apparently uncaring. Quietly, Harry, Ginny and Hermione watched as Narcissa's face transformed like the sunrise changes the world. Her eyes brightened, her smile shining, as her pale blonde hair streaming out behind her as she rushed towards him, her arms out stretched eagerly.

Dutifully, Draco stepped into his mother's arms, allowing her to embrace him carefully. With an amused sniff, Hermione noted that Narcissa took care to not to ruffle any part of her son's appearance, her hands, flat pressing against his back. She turned her head, giving him a swift kiss upon his cheek and releasing him. Her sensible airs settling upon her once more.

Draco had returned all the affection his mother had laid upon him, then stood beside her, their lips moving, voices far too low to be heard by anyone other than the guardians beside them.

"Was it just me, or was that oddly restrained?" Ginny asked quietly as they came ever closer to finally joining the group.

"Reminded me of how my aunt and uncle would greet me," Harry muttered lowly, as Hermione twisted her lips.

"Restrained because they're in public, remember how Narcissa looked so desperate to see him, I mean, she rushed towards him." Hermione noted, as Ginny nodded assent.

"Fair point," She noted, as they finally came to the end of the steps. Ginny began to wander over to her family, striding over to Bill with a wide smile upon her face. Harry followed, like glue to her side, and Hermione wondered if they were still having issues. She realised that she was stood alone, and noticed that to her left were the Malfoys, and to the right were the Weasley's. The families were completely polarised, watching each other warily, whereas herself, Shacklebolt, McGonagall and Flitwick were still deep in conversation in front of her.

Taking a stand, Hermione remained where she was, feeling a gulf widen beneath her feet as she continued to watch the families stare at one another, tension beginning to bubble up within the cavern, making her purse her lips together. She was not going to pick sides.

The thought made her eyes widen for the briefest of instants. Was she really going to walk over to the Malfoys? Were there even sides? A laugh shattered the tense air between those gathered, and Hermione looked up to see Andromeda passing Harry Teddy, who was wide awake and waving his hands in the air.

Ginny laughed at him, and began to make sure Teddy's head was supported whilst Harry shifted his arms.

"Come," Andromeda said as if she were speaking to a child, and not her adult sister. "Let's talk this out, you look utterly terrified."

"I am not." Narcissa retorted, lifting the skirt of her robes up anyway, and walking away from her son, the two aurors following like dogs after her. Unthinking, she walked towards Teddy, eager to look at the youngster to clear her head.

Draco walked forward as his mother left him, standing next to Hermione and peering at the child in Harry's arms. The Weasley's stiffened as Hermione threw him a side-long glance, looking at him with a masked expression of curiosity. Ginny flat out stared, as Harry looked at Draco with an unreadable expression.

"So that's my cousin," Draco spoke eventually, after a long painfully quiet pause, leaning back so he was stood up straight next to Hermione. His presence reminded her of his touch earlier, and she fought against the rising blush that wanted to appear for a reason she couldn't quite fathom. A smirk developed once more on Draco's face, and she wondered why, not able to think of a reason for him to be smirking besides making the Weasley's uncomfortable, but that wasn't it. There had to be more.

She looked over to the Weasley family, most of them watching Draco with a wary expression save Ron, who was looking between Draco and Hermione with a murderous scowl. The penny dropped, and Hermione bit back a sigh. He was antagonising Ron. Draco seemed to deliberately shift his weight on his feet so he was marginally closer to Hermione, pretending not to realise it, and instead, keeping his eyes upon the child with his ever changing hair.

The breeze wafted an earthy, somehow fresh scent over her, and she breathed in deeply, enjoying the smell of freshly cut grass. She looked up to see Draco doing the same, his chest rising as he inhaled. She blushed again, and a low grumble from Ron made her look up, as Malfoy replaced his smirk.

The Black sisters were talking quickly to one another, Andromeda's expression mildly amused as Narcissa looked over at them all in unease. She shifted her weight deliberately, smoothing her inky black robes and twirling her hair back into place. Her porcelain face tinged with the faintest hint of pinks. The winds were blowing their voices away from the group, but both the aurors were watching the pair with an unimpressed expression.

The wind changed direction, and as Draco leaned forward again, the earthy, fresh cut grass scent washed over her once more. Her senses gave in completely as she realised the smell came from him. A blush developed instantly, giving her still gaunt features a fresh flush of life.

Teddy cooed and Hermione took the chance to hide her face, mirroring Draco, she looked forward, sticking her tongue out at the child; her hair falling over her cheeks. She could hear his low, quiet chuckle beside her, and the blush deepened as a familiar friendly voice joined them all.

"Yer all 'ere arr yeh?" Hagrid asked, Fang dribbling by his side, and his beetle like eyes sparkling with this affection.

"We are, yes," Minerva replied, stepping forward as if to follow Hagrid, taking her cue, the Weasley's imitated, and Hagrid looked mildly surprised.

"Good good, expected a wait, right then, follow me!" He said, turning on his heel and walking back the way he came. The group shuffled after him in an awkward silence, it seemed conversation topics were hard to come by with the two Malfoy's with them. Malfoy had fallen back from Hermione, and was bringing up the rear of the group with his mother and Andromeda; their quiet stroll through the grounds was oddly pleasant. The silence awkward to others, but as the grass kicked about their ankles and the sun warmed her through, Hermione began to relax. Ron was flicking looks at her over his shoulder. His curiously tormented, furious and jealous expressions didn't bother Hermione, and she found herself mildly surprised that she found comfort in the fact Malfoy was no doubt dying from laughter at Ron's behaviour beneath his calm and cool exterior.

Her thoughts were on Malfoy again. She couldn't figure out what he'd done to work his way into her mind in the way he had since the wars end. She'd found herself thinking about him more than usual, or than she ever had before, he'd attacked her – but that was comfortingly Malfoy. That was just who he was. The conversation they'd shared that day was what had affected her; her announcing he must clearly have no friends. Her witnessing his family being torn apart. His apology. His help of the hospital wing. The conversations they'd shared. Free of argument.

The wind rustled her curls about her head, and she tucked the loose strands behind her ears, happy to reveal her blush free cheeks again. The air was becoming cooler, and she realised Hagrid had lead them mid-way between the lake and his hut. A square enclosure had been built, just next to the tree line, and young trees had been planted at the back, where the forest yearned to encroach upon the schools grounds. Rose bushes had been planted about the other fences, framing what looked to be a young garden in progress. Another square in the middle was filled with budding flowers, their first blooms of vibrant colour just peeking through the green leaves. A sign was up over the split in the fence, its arch declaring that it was a memorial garden for all who had fallen in the war fought at Hogwarts, and a lump began to form in Hermione's throat.

They walked in, gathering around the square of flowers, the attitude of the group suddenly sombre and mournful.

"Hagrid, in a few years this will be stunning," Minerva praised him gently, looking about at the little markers on the ground, signifying where a statue or a bench would be. There were a few places were a tree was marked, and more for flower beds. Hagrid nodded his head, abashed but pleased as Shacklebolt stepped forward, meaning to preside.

The service began.

Shacklebolt's rich tones spoke of love and sacrifice. Harry spoke of family. Andromeda gave her thanks.

In the rich summer sun, she looked towards the gentle breeze, allowing it to mess her greying hair. She closed her eyes, pulling out a small pouch from the insides of her robes. The group remained quiet, respectfully watching the abandoned matriarch in her grief. Andromeda pulled the strings of the pouch open, and took a pinch of the ashes. She threw it high into the air, watching the wind whip it up, as tears streamed down her face.

"My husband," she said, taking another pinch and throwing it in the breeze.

"My daughter," she continued, throwing the final pinch into the air, she watched the final wave of ashes scatter before speaking again.

"My son-in-law." She finished, hanging her head as her tears splashed down her cheeks, onto her robes, and soaked into the soil below.

Harry had passed Teddy over to Ginny, who had since handed him over to her Mother. Harry's wand was out, and with a feeling of pride, Hermione knew what was coming next.

"Thanks Lupin," Harry spoke quietly, his silver stag walking forwards, standing on the flowers proudly. The Malfoy's were out right staring; attempting to keep their emotions wrapped under the aristocratic stances and failing. Harry left, walking away towards Hogwarts, his arm dragged across his face; Hermione knew he was wiping away tears. Ginny left next, with the rest of the Weasley's, Ron included, as the staff of Hogwart's made to follow. Shacklebolt threw the Malfoy's a warning glance, before taking his own leave. Andromeda, with Teddy back in her arms left with Narcissa, the pair struggling to find words but somehow comfortable; and before she knew it, she was left alone with Draco.

He looked at her, and bowed his blond head, almost respectfully.

"Tomorrow is my father's trial. So I'll see you then Granger," he said, and left, his elegant stride watched by Hermione as the wind tussled her.


	9. Think

He stared at himself in the mirror. The large, glass wall of his Slytherin bathroom allowing him the ability to check his attire over from head to toe, he smoothed the material of his jacket down; leaning to sniff it just in case. It was clean, thank Merlin. He combed his hair once more, making sure it's shine was bright and visible, his eyes wide and bright with fear.

The letter had come, strapped to yet another over worked owl, the previous evening.

Two aurors would arrive, with a warrant and an overly skilled legilimens, in the morning, and they would take any memories he had pertaining to his father and points in the trial. There would be no hiding. There would be no lying. They would use veritaserum if they had to.

If anything would jeopardise his future more, it would be giving trouble to the aurors. Merlin would know what it would do for his father, how badly he could damage his trial. It scared him, just how much hung on the judgement of other people, that his own life could be tied so closely to his parents despite him being of age.

They were due in a moment, and he'd done everything he could have to be ready. A good impression was everything.

He'd bathed; a bath fit for deities was had. His clothes were fresh. His hair was neat. He smelt good. His shoes had been shined. The afternoon previous, after receiving the letter that told of the fate he'd endure in the morning, he'd gone for a walk around the grounds of Hogwarts with his mother before she was to be escorted back to her home. They'd spoken of how they'd both behave at the trial; with decorum of course, and had both resigned themselves to the fact that attempting to hide anything from the legilimens would harm them more than benefit them.

He'd soaked in the fresh bright rays of sunlight, taking in as much as he could before his own visit to Azkaban. His mother had stroked his hair affectionately, demonstrating the most outward love for him she'd displayed ever. He'd relished in it, attempting to drown out thoughts of Hermione Granger and her words about love, family and friendship.

He'd gone to dinner, sitting in a bizarre comfortable silence with Granger, who had sat at the other end of the table, a book propped up against a jug of juice. He'd hung his head back, admiring the Great Hall's ceiling for what must have been the millionth time, trying to force her out of his head.

He'd given in.

Granger.

She'd been lingering in the back of his thoughts since he'd discovered that she would be at his father's trial. At night she'd visit, screaming. He'd stood close to her yesterday, deliberately to annoy the Weasel-King; over hearing her turn him down had been a wonderful way to find entertainment whilst he was unable to do anything else. It had been far too easy, just hovering so close he could touch her, making it look like she wasn't that close at all. The Weasels face had been a sight; he'd almost had an aneurysm. He smiled at the memory, but his brows furrowed with realisation. Ron's temper was far more explosive than he'd remembered it, and he couldn't figure out why. Most likely, it was the war. It had affected everyone. He relaxed his being for a moment, shaking himself off as if enjoying his ability to move before he sat before Potter and Granger and the rest of the world, watched as every single tiny indiscretion his family had made was highlighted.

Hermione's face floated into the forefront of his vision. He blinked, wondering where that sudden vision had come from. If any girls face was going to appear in his mind, he would have expected Pansy's pug dog features. Not the china doll, peaches and cream complexion of Granger. He sighed, momentarily deciding that if a girl's face was going to haunt him for the rest of his existence, Granger's wasn't the worst he could do. He shuddered, remembering Millicent Bullstrode; thanking Merlin that Daphne Greengrass and her unobtainable airs had been enough to balance the women of Slytherin out.

The wall of the Slytherin dungeon opened, and Professor McGonagall entered.

The woman of steel was crumpling ever so slightly under the sheer weight of stress. Her traditional bun, usually placed right at the back of her head was sagging; evidently she'd done her hair in a rush that morning. She'd pulled on the first robes she'd seen, an ink stain Draco had seen a day or two before was still upon her knees, and in her hand was a large roll of parchment.

"Mr Malfoy," she began, just as Draco spoke her name in surprise. "I believe what I have to say should take precedent," she finished, gesturing for him to take a seat in his own common room. He did so, carefully lowering himself down into one of the overly expensive armchairs so as to not mess any part of his appearance up. Nor did he particularly want to incur her famed wrath when she held so much of his life in the palm of her hand. No, he'd be as placid as a kitten in front of her.

He waited patiently as she watched him settle, clearly expecting some sort of battle or retaliation, a look Draco had come to loathe with a passion. What made his stomach churn was that it was the natural reaction of everybody who encountered him; it was a reflex action, honed from years of experience.

"I am sure you did not expect to see me today, especially at this time, but I believe this is important." McGonagall said in the voice she used when she disciplined unruly students, it had a way of making people sit up straighter, and hanging onto every word she spoke. "I have been made aware that you are to be visited by a legilimens to gather memories from you pertaining to your father's trial. I am aware you must attend, and I am aware you will not be called to speak or explain anything due to your own current status as a criminal."

"Rest assured, I am not stupid enough to fight the man," Draco told her a hint of disbelief that she thought him so stupid bleeding into his tone. She pursed her lips immediately, and Draco felt moisture on the palms of his hands, nerves rising.

"Actually Mr Malfoy, I was hoping I could encourage you to give truthful memories to be judged. I understand, by all means, that you would want to protect your family as best you can however if I have learnt nothing over my many years is that the truth always comes out in the end. Any attempt you make to warp the case of your father will come back to bite you, either now, in a few weeks, months, or even years; it will haunt you." She spoke plainly, her eyes boring into his own so sharply his eyes began to water.

"May I ask why you're trying to persuade me?" He asked carefully, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Albus Dumbledore was a brilliant man, a truly, brilliant man. He saw good in you. He thought there was hope for you. Mr Potter tells me he offered you and your mother sanctuary before Professor Snape killed him in order to protect you. All of me, Mr Malfoy, longs for his death to not have been wasted. We may have killed Lord Voldemort, but he still planned for his death in order to save the soul of a man who spent more time tormenting his peers than anything else. If there is even a smallest shred of decency in you, it is time for it to be polished off and put to the forefront of your character. You may have helped repair the Hospital Wing, and believe me when I say I am forever grateful, but money does not solve problems. I would like to see that Albus was right, that there is hope for you, and that you are worth protecting." She said sternly. It was a speech that made him sit up straighter under the force of her glare, but the tone of her voice forced him into the ground, making him shrink. He was shamed.

"Can I ask something?" He asked, looking to his old transfigurations mistress hopefully.

"Yes?" She replied expectantly.

"Why… why am I finding out now that I have to submit memories? I mean, Dad's trial is in… its today! I have to be escorted to the ministry in less than three hours! It's ridiculously early in the morning!" He protested, suddenly distressed and ranting. McGonagall regarded him warily, a sadness developing.

"Mr Malfoy, if you think Minister Shacklebolt considers the short notice acceptable, you would be mistaken; however, as I am sure you are aware the general public want to see some sort of justice. I believe he assumed that seeing the pictures of-" she swallowed, afraid suddenly, "Voldemort dead that the public wouldn't be so… desperate to see justice doled out. However, the damage caused wasn't just by one man was it? Your family is famous, and your father…" She sighed, looking at him apologetically. "Minister Shacklebolt wants to put your father on trial first as people have been submitting things about him the moment the _Prophet_ announced he was one of those arrested. The date was set thinking that everything would be sorted before today, yesterday at the very latest. What was not expected was the sheer volume of people wanting to get involved. Postponing the date was also not an option, due to… He is hoping by putting the most famous on trial as early as is feasible, that he can avoid more unfortunate situations." She finished delicately; clearly uncomfortable.

"Such as?" He pressed, concerned. She looked at him astonished.

"Riots, Mr Malfoy. People want every single trace of Lord Voldemort's influence abolished as soon as possible. Many have experienced this before. The relief and jubilation that they were free from the threat of Voldemort, but… his tendrils never really left, people do not want to take the risk again. I believe it is understandable; but it has left an incredible burden upon a Ministry doing its best to recover after a tremendous blow." She finished her mouth still open as if there was a whole more she wished to say; but simply didn't have the time or know what to vocalise. Her words however, had given him plenty to think and worry about.

McGonagall stood up, checking a pocket watch as she did so, turning her gaze to him once more.

"It appears you have roughly a minute or two before you'll be visited by the officials," she said him in a tone that was softer, far less harsh than it had been a moment ago. "I do wish you the best Mr Malfoy," and with that, she swept out the Slytherin common room, allowing Draco to breathe deeply again.

:: :: ::

"Granger!" He exclaimed, as the Gryffindor Princess sauntered into the great hall, wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair left wild about her shoulders and a pair of boot like slippers on her feet.

"Malfoy," she replied, stifling a yawn as she did so.

"I didn't expect you'd be here too," he said dumbly, the surprise still evident in his expression.

"Well, I got a message about having to submit evidence for this trial, they want specific memories or something from me, so, here I am," she shrugged, clearly too tired to do much at all. He looked briefly at his watch, wondering exactly what time it actually was, and to his surprise found it was nearing half six in the morning. It certainly explained the lack of food in the hall, and the worn out, sleep filled look of the two aurors that had arrived to escort him from his common room to the hall, and then to his father's trial.

He sat opposite her, noting the warning glances the aurors were giving him as he had spoken to Granger, their faces solemn and threatening.

"Do you know how much longer we have to wait?" she asked him, "I need to be at the Burrow to get ready for the trial soon," she finished, starting to comb her hair with her fingers as she looked to the doors anxiously.

"It should be now," he answered, following her gaze, and to his relief, a group of figures sloped through the doors, quiet, commanding.

An old man, so old he could have stood still, and his skin would have turned to stone, fossilized forever more was at the head of the small group. He wore the robes of the unspeakables, and despite his age, his gait was easy, carefree, as if he were simply gliding along the floor. Behind him were several aurors, all of them with hard, battle worn faces, all of them still nursing a wound of varying degrees of severity. Draco finished paying them any attention, as the elderly man casually cat leaped over a particularly large chunk of rock that was left from the final battle as if it were simply a twig in his way, that he did not wish to snap.

"Forgive me, please, I hope I am not late, but I have been most extraordinarily busy, most busy." The man began his voice both powerful and feeble at the same time. "You may call me Alvis." He permitted them as he and his party finally came to a stop between the pair of them.

He turned, deliberately to Draco, holding out his hand to shake, warmth emanating from every inch of his body. He smiled kindly at him, as he took his hand; a jolt of shock rammed itself into his spine. Alvis's eyes were completely white. They were moons within his face, milky and grey, completely empty and yet utterly all seeing. When he peered deeper, Draco could see the slightest hint of a previously hazel coloured iris, but no longer.

"Mr Draco Malfoy, a pleasure. A pleasure." He repeated, letting his hand go, and turning to Hermione, offering his hand the same way he had to Draco moments before.

"Miss Hermione Granger," Alvis cooed, "It is the greatest of honours to be meeting you in the flesh, despite your destruction of my work place." He said warmly, covering Hermione's small hand with both of his as he greeted her kindly. Hermione flushed a bright pink immediately, biting her lip. Draco looked at Hermione curiously, wondering what exactly her part had been in the department of mysteries, as Hermione clearly understood, and was highly embarrassed, but before he could do anything about it, Alvis was gesturing to the pair of them.

"Sit, I have things to explain, with such little time," he said, gesturing for them to sit as an auror from behind him walked forward, placing a large, ornate case on a table and opening it, withdrawing deliberately labelled glass bottles from it delicately. They sat, unable to take their eyes off the man who, despite his age, held himself as if he were a titan.

"Now, I am sure you have both been notified as to why I am here, but I will explain the process and what we are actually doing, the more you co-operate, the faster and easier it will all be," he spoke quietly, his feeble voice managing to fill the entire room and reverberate within the pair of their bodies. "It is a branch of magic based upon what we have studied from the pensieves. I will be withdrawing a memory we have knowledge that may exist from you. We will ask you if it exists. I am expecting honesty. I will know if you are lying." With that, the pair of them repressed a shudder, aware that he was most likely noting every single vibration of their beating hearts somehow. Alvis took a pause, as a cloth was thrown over the table behind Hermione, and a small bottle was placed, obviously, onto the middle of it.

Veritaserum.

"We have a warrant, we are able to use this should it resort to that, although, I doubt it will. I am sure neither of you will cause me trouble." They both looked back to him, taking their eyes off the small bottle as Alvis continued to speak, "I will be creating a duplicate of the memory you hold. You will not be giving up the memory to the Ministry completely, just a copy. The original will still be held in your mind. I will expect your concentration, and your focus. I think you may be able to figure what will happen should you decide to not listen to the instruction I give." Each word Alvis said held a threat. It was entertaining that he'd come with so many aurors, Alvis reminded Draco of Dumbledore, immensely capable and you knew it simply by his presence, yet the way he spoke sounded as though he'd encountered those who simply saw him as a doddering blind old man.

The pair sat in complete silence as Alvis was handed a roll of parchment, unfurling it deliberately upon his lap, from his sleeve, his wand slipped into his hand, as if it had always been there.

"I believe we will start with you Miss Granger," He said, still looking at the parchment as if he were reading it.

"Of course," she answered, shifting in her seat, sitting up straighter, the way she usually did when she was in class.

"The memory of the fight between Mr Lucius Malfoy, and Mr Arthur Weasley, and the moment leading up to it if you would." He stated, as Hermione's faced twisted into a look of recollection.

"Oh, yes, that, I remember." She answered a slight smile upon her lips.

"Excellent, now, listen and do as I say, as I say," he murmured, raising his wand to her temple. She eyed it warily, obviously expecting a foul curse or jinx to explode from its end. "Hold the memory to the forefront of your mind. Hold just that memory. No stray thought, nothing else but the event, nothing but what I have asked you, hold it exactly at the very front of your mind. Done? Nod your assent." He said as Hermione nodded, clearly listening.

"Excellent, now the hard part. I need a copy of the memory, so you need to duplicate that memory for me as you give it to me. It helps to imagine a mirror, and you see the memory in the mirror, and you allow me to take the image from the mirror, or from the surface of a perfectly still pool of water. When you are ready Miss Granger," He spoke, not looking at her, but at the parchment, his finger upon a line of text, his wand still at her temple. Hermione nodded.

"Breathe carefully as you release it." He told her.

Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in and out deliberately, her chest rising and falling slowly, her shoulders stock still as she used her arms to brace herself on the bench she was seated upon. Alvis's wand shivered at her temple, despite the man himself being as still as a statue, slowly, he began to withdraw it, as Hermione winced ever so slightly.

A tendril, as silver as the lining of a cloud, the moonlight upon a lake, clung to the tip of his wand, shimmering and quivering as he deftly deposited it into one of the labelled bottles.

"Beautiful mind, Miss Granger," he complimented as he pressed a cork into the top of the bottles neck, passing it off to be sealed with wax and placed carefully into the case.

"Thank you, it felt like a pinch," Hermione replied, clearly curious.

"Yes, you duplicated it perfectly, just as it was about to leave, beautiful mind." Alvis repeated his compliment as he traced his finger to the next memory he was due to enquire about and collect. The bottle of veritaserum still sat within range of his grasp, threatening. Not that he'd need it, not with his legilimency, and a small army of aurors. Hermione was sitting patiently, watching her memory be carefully stored in its special slot within the travel case.

"Now," Alvis spoke once more, "It is said you visited Malfoy Mannor, any truth to this." He stated, not asked, he knew it was true already. Of course he did. Draco shuddered to himself, wondering how he could have seen their minds so effortlessly already. He'd not shielded his mind since the final battle, willing himself to keep his mind open lest people misinterpret his desire to remain at Hogwarts, however, legilimency was usually noticeable, and intrusions of one's mind were usually uncomfortable.

"Oh fuck." Hermione said weakly, "I know what memory you want, just take it." She permitted, closing her eyes and concentrating, as Alvis immediately raised his wand to her temple, not even looking at her as she released the memory of her screaming and bleeding upon his houses floor. Within a heartbeat, that memory too was placed inside a bottle and gone.

"Any other memory you wish to submit to the court?" He asked her politely, as unlabelled bottles were produced from an unknown entity.

"Not that I can think of right now, but if I can think of anything, I'll let you know." She answered and Alvis nodded turning his pupil-less gaze to Draco.

"You have until the time I am finished with Mr Malfoy, and Mr Potter has supplied memories of when you were in the Hall of Prophecy," he told her, as the thought had clearly entered Hermione's mind. She closed her mouth sitting back satisfied, unsure of if she had been dismissed or not. Alvis apparently didn't mind her staying to watch his own memories be withdrawn from his mind.

"My turn I assume," Draco spoke softly, watching as Alvis's finger trace down the parchment his eyes still upon Draco's face.

"It is indeed," Alvis replied, "I do hope you paid attention to what I told Miss Granger," he said sharply, gesturing for Draco to sit where Hermione had done. Immediately, Hermione slid along the bench, making room for him. He went to take her place, nervously sitting between the pair of them as if her were a dead man walking.

"I did," he answered, as Alvis's wand shot to his temple, much the same way it had done for Hermione.

"Good, now, muggle women coming to your home." Alvis requested, and Draco closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.

:: :: ::

For fifteen minutes, Alvis harvested memories from him as if he were a farmer taking a scythe to his wheat. Pinch, after pinch, after pinch. Screams after screams. Tears, promises, tormented faces. They'd started to blur into one after a while, but Alvis had waited like a stone man for him to mentally sort himself out, and release the memory for him. His occlumency had helped him immensely, closing out all that weren't relevant. He'd recoiled in horror at some of the memories that had been requested, disturbed that the knowledge of them had been known to those he considered strangers. Moments that were between just his family, moments captured Death Eaters had willingly surrendered at a hope of a softer sentence or none at all.

"We're done," Alvis said finally as the last bottle was placed into the case, and closed away, ready to be viewed by all those present at the trial.

The aurors were clearly preparing to leave with Alvis, the veritaserum had been removed the moment the finalising words had left Alvis's lips, its presence no longer needed. The two aurors that had escorted him from his common room to the hall flocked to his side once more, their quiet conversations with the other aurors over immediately. Hermione was starting to leave, heading towards the doors with a fast pace.

"Granger!" He called, "Can I ask you something?" Hermione stopped, swivelling on her heel swiftly and biting her lip as she looked at him curiously. "I mean, you're the only one I actually talk to these days so I thought that you may..." He garbled nervously, and Hermione's head dropped to one side, her eyes narrowing as she folded her arms, curiosity swelling in her expression.

"Just ask it," She said, "We're both in a bit of a rush," she reminded him pointedly and he swallowed.

"McGonagall said something to me earlier, about money not solving problems, what did she mean by that?" He asked her; ashamed to admit it had been nagging at the back of his mind since the words had left the woman's lips.

Hermione immediately looked taken aback; she bit her lip once more, unwilling to look him in the eyes until she spoke.

"I don't really know the context in which she said it to you, but I think I can sort have guess. I have to admit it would be vague, but, I'd imagine it has something to do with you and your family and your enormous wealth." He nodded, and she noted it, her eyebrows rising as she considered for a brief moment. "There is a saying, something along the lines of 'they're so poor, all they have is money,' that may have something to do with what she meant."

"That doesn't make any sense..." He said in confusion, as Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

"Does it not? It seems sort of relevant to you and your family, and in the only context that I can imagine McGonagall speaking to you about cash earlier today. I assume she was probably telling you to not offer the judge and jurors' money or something along those lines," she spoke, getting into a stride before he threw her a dark look.

"Actually, I'd say it was more money doesn't fix problems," he corrected her pointedly and she smirked at him in response.

"Almost the same thing," she shrugged smugly, "the saying means that the only thing a rich person has is money, nothing that a poor person would consider valuable, like friends and family that love them. It's the whole idea that there are other things in life that are valuable, and that money doesn't solve all problems. In fact, the richer you are, apparently the more unhappy you are. I think McGonagall was probably trying to tell you the world is changing, and no one knows how at the moment, but money, money isn't the solution." Hermione said, turning to leave once more.

"But I wouldn't do-"

"You wouldn't." She repeated disbelieving, "have you not already? The hospital wing?" She prompted him, her lips pursing in an alarmingly McGonagall like manner.

"No one asked me to do that! I just wanted to-"

"Can't you at least realise that it might look like you're trying to buy your way into Hogwarts? Like it appears you think money is the solution. You've got a problem; let's just throw cash at it. Didn't you do this in your second year? Got your Dad to buy the whole Quidditch team brooms?" She asked him rhetorically, her arms tightening over her chest as she looked at him far more angrily than he expected. "Pull your head out your arse. Be a better person than your father."

With that, she swept out the hall, her dressing gown swishing about her ankles at the speed of her stride. He watched her go humiliation and anger co-mingling within him at her words. He hadn't even finished asking what he needed. 


	10. Trials

They'd escorted him back to his common room, frog marched was a far more accurate term in his mind, but he was certain they'd believe he had been walked back with his own breathing space. Regardless of what he thought.

He had settled into a random chair within their sights, unwilling to aggravate the already biased aurors. The pair of them had sat opposite him, their eyes never leaving him; save to check a small bracelet the woman wore once in a while.

"What are you expecting?" Draco asked eventually, breaking the uncomfortable silence they'd been sitting in after watching the woman look at her wrist for the hundredth time in the five minutes they'd been back in the common room.

"It to vibrate," she replied in the droll tones he normally used. "We're to go the moment it starts; you're to be taken straight to the courtroom. You'll be seated next to your mother, and Miss Hermione Granger." The woman continued eyes glued to her wrist as if she wouldn't feel the bracelet move.

"We'll be right behind you, so don't you try something with Miss Granger." The man said as the woman stood up, clearly agitated with the idea of waiting. Draco smothered a laugh, looking at the man he believed was called Luca as if he were of little intelligence, after all, they'd been in the hall with him whilst he'd sat with her, and had a brief conversation with the woman, all managed without any kind of violence.

"Please," he answered condescendingly, "I'll admit I've not been a saint, in fact, if you recall I was made to do an incredibly public apology for my poor behaviour, I believe you were even there in person. Now, It speaks volumes that you genuinely believe that I'd attack a war-heroine at my own father's trial. Do tell, what do I have to gain from such a thing?" The old Malfoy behaviour was back, patronising, in control, and scathing. It had always suited him well, there was an effectiveness to it that produced results that other ways could not, this was a part of himself he would not be shedding.

Luca had curled his upper lip up in what looked like embarrassment as Draco had spoken to him so unflinchingly, instead, he put his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a chain of all things. Draco regarded it, raising a brow curiously, but disinterested.

The wall opened once more, and for the second time that morning, Professor McGonagall rushed in, thoroughly out of breath.

"Professor?" Draco asked, staring at her in surprise. Minerva looked at the three of them, relief washing onto her stance like waves over a sandy beach.

"Thank goodness you're still here, I just received word, I am to take your wand, not Miss Brett," she explained, referring to the female auror who was with them, holding her hand out expectantly as she stood up straighter, and regaining her breath.

"What?!" Both Draco and Ava spoke simultaneously, looking at her in surprise.

"If you've questions, bring it up with the Minister, it seems Shacklebolt prefers that you do not enter the Ministry with a wand, and as you will be returning here each night, you can retrieve it from me when you return." She explained, as Luca looked as if he'd rather like to kick something.

"Give it to Ava, Malfoy." Luca said menacingly, completely disregarding what McGonagall had just said. Minerva gave Luca such a withering glare he recoiled visibly, as, with a hint of distress, Draco withdrew his wand from his pocket.

He looked at it lovingly; it had been used so little since it had been returned to him, he'd wanted to play it as safe as possible making sure no spells were on it that may upset who ever may be the judge of his future. Now he was being asked to turn it over once more, be separated from it again, leave it in the care of someone he wasn't entirely sure had his best interests at heart.

"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall spoke suddenly, her hand still outstretched, her expression understanding. "I assure you, this is temporary. It will be returned to you the moment you step foot upon Hogwarts grounds, it will be returned to you. You cannot carry a wand at the Ministry and in court, due to your own situation. You _know_ I speak the truth. You know I have nothing to gain from this. I have my own wand. You have also given me no reason to think confiscating your wand would be beneficial." She was stern, as she always was, but each word was like a solution of logic to a mind that was becoming hazy with grief at handing over his wand. He spun it in his hand suddenly, holding it out to the Transfigurations mistress to take, his eyes closing in distress.

He felt a grip take the handle, and as he was about to release his own, a sharp slapping noise forced his eyes open.

"Mr Greensworth!" McGonagall scolded, "If I have to speak to Minsiter Shacklebolt about you, I most definitely will. Remove your hand immediately." She finished, her nostrils flaring as her lips whitened with her fury. Luca tightened his grip, gritting his teeth as McGonagall looked even more livid with each passing second her hand wasn't on his wand.

"Let go Luca," Ava sighed, rolling her eyes in the background, as Luca clinked the chain he was still holding thoughtfully. He released his fingers, and Minerva took over immediately, slipping his wand into a special sheathe and then tucking it away in her own robes.

"Thank you," Minerva said to all in the room, turning to look at Draco pointedly.

"Thank you," he swallowed, suddenly painfully shy as he looked at McGonagall, "thank you for giving me a chance. No, I mean, thank you for giving me a chance to return to Hogwarts and…" he trailed off, aware that he was garbled and incoherent; unfitting for a Malfoy. McGonagall looked slightly taken back, but she dipped her head as her lips thinned. Luca snorted a laugh back, smirking at him behind McGonagall's back.

"If Hogwarts can give you another chance at life that you won't throw away; then you shall have it." She promised him, once more a strictness to her voice as Ava's bracelet began to vibrate at exactly eight thirty in the morning. "Now, you cannot be late, you are aware of how you're to be transported I assume?" She asked as Luca began to look at him with such venom in his eyes he began to feel afraid. He began to raise his hands warily, as McGongall watched him with a hint of alarm, it was smothered however, by the fury that now raged beneath her skin. "No." He answered tersely, as he began to struggle not to cower at the two aurors with their wands raised and pointed at him. She raised her eyebrows in disapproval, but by the look on her face, Draco got the distinct feeling after the day was over he'd never see Luca again in his life.

"Like a criminal," Luca said delightedly, as he flicked the chain and his wand at the same time. The chain sneaked around his wrists, snaring his ankles. A fatigue began to seep into his very being, his very core now a slave to his shackles; draining him of all energy.

"What… what is this?" He gasped, struggling to keep his eyes open as he fell to his knees.

"Can't have you possibly transforming on us can we?" His thoughts muddled, confusion blocking all hope he had for sense, he vaguely wondered if they meant he was an unregistered animagus, the memory of Rita Skeeter not one he wished to re-live. The woman really was a beetle.

"I guess not," he agreed, marginally unaware of what he was saying, as he found himself being pulled to his feet.

"Let's go." He heard someone say, and with the familiar, but now painful pull of apparition; he vanished.

:: :: ::

Hermione sat in the kitchen of the Burrow as Ginny whirled her wand about her head, gently tugging her hair into a simple, yet elegant knot at the back of her head. The youngest Weasley had helped pick out a dress for her to wear earlier, and Hermione had taken great care over eating her breakfast that morning so as to not spill any of it on the form flattering pencil dress she'd been handed the moment she'd apparated into Ginny's bedroom in her pyjamas. She looked at her hands as Ginny finished, patting the knot to signify she was done, and Hermione smiled to herself.

"Thanks Gin, you're a life saver." She said fondly, as Ginny sat next to her.

"Don't be silly, I'll teach you these things if you want. You're also forgetting it's easier to do on someone else than it is yourself." Ginny chided with an amused quirk to her freckled features, gesturing to her own long red hair that she'd tied back into a simple pony tail. Hermione grinned properly; as Harry bounded down the stairs in a suit he looked surprisingly comfortable wearing.

"Not robes?" Ginny asked, giving Harry and admiring glance as Hermione picked up her blazer from the seat next to her.

"Nah, think this is going to be uncomfortable, your Mum said to wear something I'd feel more at home in. Was raised as a muggle so… it's what I'm used to." He said, shrugging. Ginny nodded, not really minding in the slightest as the fireplace roared to life and Arthur Weasley stepped out of it.

He stumbled forward slightly, catching himself on one of the many soft chairs, shaking his head free of soot. He knocked his still shabby robes about, and a shower of ash was set free, it gathered about him on the floor in a halo; a guilty expression coming to life upon Arthur's face. He looked about in what was clearly meant to be a sneaky way, pulling his wand out of his robes and pointing it at the floor. A second later, and the mess had vanished, the floor as pristine as it had been previously. He tucked his wand away, and walked into the kitchen, his face fell a little as he realised the three had seen everything.

"Don't… don't mention that to Molly would you?" He asked a hopeful twinkle in his eye.

"Don't mention what Dad?" Ginny replied, a look not uncanny to George's mischievous air on her face. Arthur sighed with relief, giving his daughter a loving expression.

"That's my girl; Molly worked too hard to keep that floor clean." He smiled, turning to Harry and Hermione who were both still eating. "Harry, Hermione, I've been sent to collect you." He continued, giving them both an approving glance as he saw what they were wearing. Harry started to shovel food down his throat so fast Hermione thought he might choke, and Ginny snorted with laughter. Arthur blinked, taken aback by Harry's sudden speed eating. "Not, not now, there's still some time!" He exclaimed, and Harry threw him a relieved look as he slowed down his shovelling.

"Are you going to be there at the trial too Mr Weasley?" Hermione asked him, her brown eyes wide. He shook his head and Hermione slumped a little, not aware that she'd been hoping for another familiar presence at the trial.

"No, I'm to apparate you there, and then leave; I gave my memories – no need for my attendance. I'll do this each morning for as long as the case lasts." He told her, picking up a croissant.

Silence reigned once more, as was now the common situation; as if all were able to appreciate the sound of nothing more since all previous silences had been terse, strained, and the echo to a deathly scream. These had become comfortable; almost pleasant silences. They finished their meals just as Arthur began to look as if he was about to drag them away; Ginny kissed Harry, and he grinned much to Hermione's inward relief. She stood, facing Arthur who gently took hold of her arm, holding his other hand out for Harry to join him.

"We'll be going straight to Kingsley, no one else; he'll be waiting and he'll then take you straight there. There shouldn't be any press, not until you get inside the courtroom." Arthur said, with the all too familiar tones of needing to keep them safe from a danger they couldn't run from forever. He gripped Harry's arm; almost protectively, and the pull of apparition engulfed her.

:: :: ::

The waiting room for their entrance was dull to say the most, a brown leather sofa, filled with cracks betraying it's age was shoved up against one of the walls, a coffee table carelessly placed in the middle of it, with a coffee stained copy of the newest _Daily Prophet_ , an old Malfoy family picture emblazoned on the front of it under the headline ' _Family Reunion'_. A house plant of some sorts, one that looked as though it hadn't seen nor heard of water once in its life time was in the corner of the room to add something to look at Draco assumed, as not even a picture hung on the dull grey walls. Four aurors were guarding the room, one in each corner, whilst Draco's two had a small break in shadowing him before the court was due to start.

The room however, was a nice change from the corridors that he'd been paraded down; a major re-decoration was in progress. There were so many bodies, so many sheets, and the smell of rotting flesh… the smell was lingering.

The door opened, and a lanky man walked in, clearly chaperoning someone.

His mother.

She followed the auror in, clearly irritated with the mornings events, and allowed her eyes to casually scan the room once over. She took note in its bare decor, wrinkling her nose ever so slightly, enough that only Draco would notice it, she ran her eyes over both Potter and Granger, who were talking to quietly about the Weasley's by the potted plant, her eyes flaring with fury for the briefest of instants, before noting the other few insignificant members of the public.

Finally, she found him. Her face brightened immediately, and she swanned over to him, her hands outstretched.

"Mother," he said, leaning into kiss her cheek affectionately as she clasped her hands over his.

"Draco," she replied, returning his kiss as delicately as she usually did. For a moment, Draco was relieved the press that had been allowed to attend had not been able to see the second reunion they'd shared since being parted from one another. The door opened once more, and a shrill voice that he recognised instantly greeted them before he could turn to look.

"Draco!" Pansy cried grabbing hold of him and pulling him in to a greeting kiss, her lips crashing themselves against his jaw, he hadn't been able to turn his head fast enough, in an overly spit filled manner. "I'm so happy to see you here, did you know that stupid McGonagall woman won't even allow me to come see you at Hogwarts. It's such a fucking dumb thing to say, like, I'm his contracted wife-to-be, doesn't that mean anything? Urgh." She huffed, as Narcissa looked at Pansy fondly. Pansy finally seemed to have noticed that his mother was in attendance, and without waiting for any response from him, turned to her, elated.

"Mrs Malfoy!" She said in the same jubilant tones she'd greeted him in her signature brunette bob shaking just below her jawline as she leaned in to kiss both his mother's cheeks. Narcissa returned them both effortlessly, clearly pleased Pansy was there.

"Pansy, darling, I'm so pleased you're here," she confirmed Draco's suspicions as he looked at Pansy with a distaste he hadn't expected.

Merlin's beard. It was Granger. Granger prompted by McGonagall. She was right, the world was changing, and it had no choice after what had transpired just over a week ago. Things would have to be different, and in had come Pansy, speaking about a marriage contract that had been agreed for them in the summer between their third and fourth years. It's why he'd taken her to the yule ball; it was why he'd attempted to care for her beyond their friendship if they could ever had called it that. He'd been perfect at putting on a display of slow burning affection for her, but never, never had it ignited into something real. He'd barely even thought of her since Voldemort's defeat. She'd been so insignificant in the whole scheme of things. The idea of seeking her out for comfort simply hadn't occurred to him, because Pansy didn't do the kind of comfort he needed, Pansy didn't do much at all that didn't benefit her. Private comforting hugs were not her style; she'd prefer the world saw her stroke the hair of the Malfoy heir.

"Draco?" Pansy was asking him, looking at him as if he'd just had a fit; she was not used to being ignored by him. He'd made sure of that after the contract had been signed.

"Sorry Pans, I zoned out for a moment, was thinking of…" He lied artfully, looking shamefaced as Narcissa made a hushing noise, clasping his hand sympathetically. Pansy softened immediately, understanding the situation they were about to endure.

"I was only asking if the rumour about Granger living at Hogwarts was true," Pansy repeated for him, "as I was saying, it's a travesty. McGonagall won't allow me to see someone who is there unwillingly, but will allow Granger to put down roots. Does she not have a home to go to?" She laughed spitefully.

"Actually, no I don't." Hermione said making the three of them jump in surprise. Shock filled his veins like ice water as he turned to watch her pass them on her way to the door. A delighted chuckle escaped Pansy, and his mother tutted with satisfaction at something he couldn't fathom. Granger didn't have a home?

A fragmented line was being formed, and an auror was checking names off a list he held in his hands, as another placed Hermione behind a stern looking man he didn't recognise. Potter had been called, and a murmur of astonishment and interest burst to life in the room as he was directed to his spot.

"Mr Draco Malfoy." An unfamiliar voice called as Potter sighed, rubbing his hands on his suit's trousers nervously.

"It's time, let's go." Hermione said as the auror by the door pointed at him, and waved him over. The first day was due to begin.

:: :: ::

The courtroom was small, circular. It was decorated plainly, deep brown wood was laid down for the floor, and it meant every footstep echoed in the dome, which, despite its size, was cavernous. The wood continued up the sides of the room, leading up to raised seating, rows upon rows all the way up to the ceiling. In the middle of the floor was a lone chair in a wrought iron cage, its wooden arms and legs with braces for someone's limbs. It faced a podium, high above the chair, imposing. Great oak doors were behind the chair, and the lowest row of seats was at the same height as the doors midpoint, exactly halfway. The entire courtroom was lit by one lone chandelier, tiers of candles placed upon it, their dim light giving the place a foreboding glow.

The media were already sitting in the top rows of seats like insects, the lenses of their cameras their bright beady eyes, and the scratching of quills on parchment was eerily similar to how a swarm of insects sounded when eating.

Aurors, many of them, as Kingsley Shacklebolt had been kindly loaned twenty each from other ministry from around the world until they were not needed anymore lined the floor below where the audience would sit, a good couple of feet between their heads and the feet of those beginning to walk to their seats in the lowest row.

Below the media, were several rows of people each wearing identical robes of the Ministry. They weren't the robes of the Wizengamot, and so must have been the jurors. They were talking amongst themselves, excited and eager for nine o'clock to chime.

He walked to his allocated seat, pointedly ignoring the aurors walking beside him the row just above him, watching Pansy, just in front of his mother settling into her seat, looking bored already. The media had noticed their arrival, and were lazily taking pictures, a flash lighting up the room every few seconds.

"Mother," Draco said, sitting in the chair next to her, leaning in to kiss her cheek affectionately. He relaxed back, feeling an ache in his guts where the chain had pulled at his core.

"Draco," she replied, returning his kiss as the aurors guarding them settled into the seats behind them, the flashbulbs of the press capturing their practised reunion for all to see. "Remember, placid faces," She said lowly, her lips barely moving her gaze upon the chair in the middle of the court, where her husband would appear in chains.

"I'd never forget," he answered, in the schooled, careful movement of his face he'd learnt since he had learnt to walk and talk. Their staged reunion over he took in a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come in the day ahead as a surprised, frenzied chatter burst out opposite them, the flash bulbs of the photographers attempting to re-create a lightning storm. The sound of quills scratching upon the surface of parchment soon became the thunder. He turned his head to the left, and found himself attempting to wipe a smirk off his face.

Hermione Granger was walking to her seat beside him, the picture of elegance and personified defiance. Her face wore the look of a woman walking into a storm. She carefully lowered herself into her chair next to him, not looking at him, instead scowling at the press opposite her with such venom he was impressed.

"Goodness." His mother said under her breath, her distaste evident in the way she raised her nose in the air a fraction of an inch, so as not to be noticed by the hawk eyed lenses. Apparently, Narcissa had not been made aware of the seating arrangements.

The chatter hadn't stopped; instead, Hermione was leaning away from him, whispering something to the person next to her. Potter. He seemed to be free of his Weaselette. Each time he'd seen the pair of them they'd been attached as if a permanent sticking charm had been applied to them both. He'd actually expected her to attend considering he was. Potter's face was just as stony as Hermione's, his glare speaking volumes as he remained looking straight ahead, his hands clasped in his lap.

Hermione sat back in her seat again, and unthinkingly, he leant towards her, but a firm, stern grip upon his shoulder stopped his movement.

"I hope you're not thinking of taking Miss Grangers' wand." A woman's voice taunted him. He turned, as Hermione finally looked at him properly, annoyance sparking to life within his gut, his lip curling as he faced the auror withholding him.

"Actually," he purred dangerously, capturing her deep blue eyes with his own, "I was going to discreetly thank her for coming, as I know she didn't have to show her face here, nor did Mr Potter for that matter. Their support means a lot to my mother and I."

"Oh, well, I-" The woman attempted to answer, as Draco raised a lone brow at her.

"Yes, I'm sure." He interrupted, taking a careful look over her finally. She looked like the woman who had escorted him that morning, but younger, possibly mid-twenties, with a cut slicing the olive skin of her cheek. Her heart shaped face was framed by dark blonde hair, curling ever so gently about her jawline. She had a slight stocky build, which he suspected was muscle, and a friendly if flustered smile.

"Really, its fine, I know he wouldn't be as stupid as to attempt to take my wand here." Hermione added her voice to the fray, "I do thank you for your diligence Miss?"

"Brett, Felicity Brett," she answered, getting more flustered by the moment. Draco regarded Hermione for the briefest of instances, and noted the politeness was forced; her expression was one you would wear if disciplining a small child. The name satisfied his curiosity, a close relation to be sure, sister perhaps.

"Miss Brett, Mr Malfoy will be fine with me." She assured her, a smile that didn't reach her eyes spreading upon her lips. The auror nodded as Hermione turned back in her seat, facing the excited press once more. She didn't look at him, nor answer his thanks, but her stance relaxed ever so slightly. He caught a glance of Potter who smirked at him, before realising just whom he was looking at, and looked forward again.

:: :: ::

A clock chimed somewhere, and immediately, silence descended.

It was nine in the morning.

The doors opened for the final time, and three men walked in, the first headed directly to the podium in front of the caged chair. He stood behind the podium, waiting for the second man to come to a stop in front of the podium, and for the Shacklebolt to seat himself in the chair to the right of the main podium.

"The trial of Lucius Malfoy to begin." The man behind the podium commanded, and with a sharp crack, his father appeared in front of the court.

Lucius had been looked after well in the holding cells, he was clean at least. His hair was tied back, the way he usually wore it. He was even clean shaven. His robes were clean, whilst basic, not the usual fare he was used to, but clothed.

He groaned quietly, clearly dazed, blinking frantically as if he'd just seen a blinding light and his eyes were struggling to adjust. His arms were chained to the chair, and his legs were too, his movement was completely restricted, only his head was free to loll about, as if he were a rag doll.

"It is requested that complete silence be maintained throughout the duration of the trial. Speak when you are spoken to." The speaker at the podium said sternly, his voice magically amplified.

A pair of unspeakables had slipped into the courtroom whilst the charges, many of them, had been announced, and just underneath the podium were setting performing an incredibly complex spell with the use of several potions. Eventually, the court came to a complete silence as a silvery, metallic surface flowed upwards perfectly flat, as if it were a mirror made out of molten silver. Their work completed, they stood either side of it imposingly, waiting next to it.

And with that. It began.

:: :: ::

It had soon become clear that the only person able to speak for his defence was Lucius Malfoy himself. Everyone else that was capable was either barred due to their own criminal status, dead, or completely unwilling, out of either sheer terror, or a relief that the Malfoy's were finally in trouble.

Memories had been projected onto the silver wall in some way he couldn't figure out, but gasps of amazement and approval had twittered throughout the court, and to Draco's relief, the memories had not been biased, but a fair assessment of his father.

Only. It was becoming blindingly obvious that the man Draco had grown up idolising, was not a man to idolise.

Each of the memories had shown the same thing, he was drawn to power, knew how to pull strings, intimidate, blackmail and bribe in order to get his way. He was fiercely protective of his family, and to Draco's dismay, truly entrenched in pure-blood ideals. The first day of evidence had made that abundantly clear. The second day was proving the same. He kept his eyes on his father, hoping that there may be something to change his view, to give him some hope again.

"Tell us about your son." The man striding around his father's cage asked. His tone complacent, as if everything they'd been talking about yesterday and in the morning was nothing in comparison to this.

"He's a smart boy, talented at flying; I believe you're going to have to elaborate." His father answered, as he did his best to ignore Granger stiffening beside him, and the slight chin raise from Potter. The sudden intense interest from the press in his direction. He gritted his teeth. His jaw clenching.

"Forgive me," The man said in his bored tones, utterly unapologetic as he continued his walk about Lucius' cage. He raised one of his overly hairy arms to his chin, rubbing an overly manicured beard. "I meant tell us about the decisions you and your wife made when raising your son. How you wanted the ambassador for the pair of you, to appear to the rest of the world. Tell me, and the esteemed ladies and gentlemen gathered here today, what aspects of your lifestyles you chose to impress upon your lone son. Tell us all, why you chose them, what you were hoping for him."

The question echoed throughout the courtroom, every syllable thudding through his skull and his mother placed her hand upon his forearm, squeezing it gently. Her fingers looked minute upon the sleeve of his suit's jacket, her white fingers like a child's. The media, who had been oddly silent their quills scratching away as silently as possible, were now as loud as nails down a chalk board. Flashes burst out once more, his picture taken again, his pain illuminated.

Lucius looked towards him and his mother for the first time, agonised, and beside him, his mother nodded once, supportive, although the hand upon his arm trembled slightly. Surreptitiously, he placed his hand upon his mothers, and inwardly braced himself once more.

His world was going to shatter.

:: :: ::

Malfoy was sitting as stiff as a board beside her. He'd straightened up in his chair, but comforted his mother at the first available opportunity as his father looked to the pair of them with a pained expression.

"How, how are my parenting decisions relative to my trial?" Lucius asked, as the questioner spun on his heel to face him, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I've always found, Mr Malfoy, that there are three; almost fool proof ways of judging someone are to look at how they treat those inferior to them, to secondly, look at how they carry themselves in public, their actions when they believe no one is looking. Then, finally, look at how they find it acceptable to raise their child. I believe I said earlier, that a child is the ambassador of yourself and your partner. It is the crowning jewel of a relationship, a child. Now of course, parenthood is not for everyone, but I do find, that when a child has been brought into the world, it becomes a valuable way of seeing what someone is made of. Now, I'm afraid the memories provided haven't exactly painted the prettiest of pictures of your character, but the real way to confirm if any of that is true, is to look at your son.

This, this is all relevant to your current situation because your son up there," He said, his voice hardening, as he pointed directly at Draco, the tip of his finger aimed directly between his eyes, "is everything that you and your wife believe in. He is the epitome of the pair of you. Your children, whether you realise it or not, are mirrors of you. They see how you behave and they copy it. Having you tell me, and all those gathered here today, exactly what attributes you intended for your beloved son to inherit will help the pair of you." He explained sternly, not once breaking his gaze from Lucius's.

"How?" Lucius asked, clearly not realising he'd spoken when he hadn't meant to. The man chuckled lowly, shaking his head as he looked to the floor, shaking his shoulders as the peals of heartless laughter left his body.

"It is no secret, the situation your son is under. Thanks to the sheer generosity of our current Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the kindness of Madam McGonagall, the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, he is under house arrest at the school until his two week stay at Azkaban. He has already been made to pay a vast amount of his inheritance to the three cornerstone institutions of our world. He has been made to apologise, in public, to I think, most of wizarding Britain. I am not sure if anyone didn't see the pictures of him in Hogsmeade. Now, I ask you this, tell me, why is this the punishment for your son?"

"His age," Lucius said as if the questioner was stupid.

"Oh. His age," he repeated, gesturing expectantly for Lucius to continue.

Lucius shook his head clearly confused, as Draco took in an overly deep breath, his chest rising and falling, causing a wave of his earthy scent to wash over her. She bit her lip, watching as the questioner sighed heavily.

"Oh Mr Malfoy." He said, as Lucius looked at him confused. "His age. He was granted the punishment because the majority of his actions were when he was just sixteen. Now, do you agree with me that it would be a fair assessment that perhaps his actions might not have been his own fault? That, perhaps, while he was still considered a minor, he should have had parents that were able, and or willing to teach him the correct way in which to conduct oneself?"

"I would say that is a fair assessment. Besides, my son admitted it himself in his apology to the Madam Rosmerta. My wife and I have most certainly made mistakes in our parenting of him." Lucius admitted, as Draco fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves, his mother's hand attempting to restrain him from doing so.

"Now, referring back to how it would help him, tell me, is your sons' future set in stone? What will he be doing after his stay in Azkaban?"

"He'll be…" Lucius trailed off immediately, shamed at once.

"Exactly." His questioner explained, "You have created a liability. People are unsure of the young Malfoy heir, now, why would that be?"

"My own ideals of blood purity. That I willingly placed my own son in a dangerous environment; they are most likely concerned that my son is essentially a copy of myself." He sighed, as Hermione breathed in deeply.

"So, tell me about your son."

Lucius sighed, hanging his head. "Draco was an only child for a reason. The Malfoy line has always had one lone son. Just one; to carry on the name. He was named to uphold the Black family constellation naming tradition, and as such, he was as pure-blooded as you could get. Both my wife and I's families are as old as you could get, and we had both been raised ourselves entrenched in the pureblood ideologies." He looked more and more uncomfortable as he spoke, until eventually; he finished, and looked pleadingly at the man asking him questions. "I think this would work much better if you just asked me much more direct questions."

"Very well, let's talk about the decisions you encouraged your son to make," He agreed, "let's start with friends at school. It is rumoured, that you very much encouraged him to make friends with Mr Harry Potter once he started at Hogwarts. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Hermione tensed attempting to calm herself, because for some reason, her heart was thudding in her chest, her blood on fire.

There was something oddly terrifying, but it felt like she was about to open a whole treasure chest, like she was going to discover a map to the lost city of Atlantis. The press had begun a brand new frenzy the sheer mention of Harry Potter. Both men either side of her had shifted uncomfortably, and without knowing it, the pair of them were doing their very best to not look at one another.

"There was a belief, that, Harry Potter was going to be the new Dark Lord, so I encouraged my son to investigate, to become friends with him."

"And, why would you do that."

"Because… because…"

:: :: ::

Family was his weakness.

It had been discovered.

His mother had gripped his arm so tightly he was losing feeling in it.

He gripped her hand back just as tightly.

His father had been caught like a mouse in a field, trying to escape an owl. His father had expertly talked himself into the questioners' beak. It was galling, at every opportunity, Lucius had been given a fair opportunity to defend himself, explain his reasoning. Each memory had been countered by one of his own, or of someone else's at a different angle. Where he wasn't able to have a defence, people that Draco had never even heard of had been contacted, and had supplied either a statement, or a memory of their version of events.

To his relief, and dread, Kingsley Shacklebolt had kept to his published word that every Death Eater would be given a fair trial. It was just a shame his father's trial was the only one the press had been allowed to attend.

It made every single thing that Lucius admitted to of his own admission even worse.


	11. Questions

An unspeakable began to feed a memory to the wall of silver, and it shivered to life upon the metallic surface, bathing the courtroom of a scene from his childhood.

The face of Lucius Malfoy peered down at them all, young and magnificent, his eyes glittered dangerously.

"Draco," he said smoothly, "you are forgetting; you are far more special than anyone else. You're a wizard, a pure-blooded wizard at that. A true wizard Draco; and a Malfoy. Suggesting we ought to pity… muggles… it's laughable. Don't suggest that to me again." A woman's scream ripped through the memory from somewhere behind Lucius, and slightly out of view. Raucous masculine laughter overpowered the desperate shrieks as someone called out for the torturer to do it again. The screams began to sound wet, sloppy, and a groan of disappointment caused the young Lucius to look away from them all curiously.

"Is that mudblood dead? So fast? Merlin that's disappointing, Nott, get another would you?" He called to those out of view, as the memory began to ripple, slithering back into the bottle from which it had been freed.

The courtroom had become silent in a different manner than before. Where they had been interested, delighted to watch their suspicions that the Malfoy patriarch was a blackmailing bully, this had been another thing to view entirely. A complete disregard for human life was a difficult thing to watch, especially considering the sheets that had covered the dead in the ministries hallways, their muggle families being contacted via the muggle police in order to return their dead.

It was common knowledge it was one of the Ministries biggest post-war headaches, and here was a memory of Lucius Malfoy chiding his son for pitying muggles as his friends murder one in the background.

The silence was long. Cold. Stony. And Pansy was trying to stifle her giggles.

Never had Draco felt so angry.

Then the questions began. When was this? What was he doing? Who else was there? What was happening to the women he'd brought home? Did his wife know? Did Draco ever attend? Why was he allowing this? What was the point, considering they believed Lord Voldemort was gone, were they trying to tempt him back with a bit of muggle torture? Were they definitely muggles? Was it always women?

Every time, Lucius was given a chance to defend himself, and each time, he chose not to, admitting to everything. It was frustrating, he hadn't given up, but there was no smooth talking his way out of anything. They had just so many testimonies otherwise. So many people had been contacted.

His anger was beginning to fizzle into fear. It was like a scorpion, crawling its way up his spine, stabbing him in each separate vertebra, paralysing him with terror. He'd so desperately wanted to prepare something to help his father; he'd supplied every memory he'd been asked for, truthful ones at that. When he'd been given the opportunity to supply something new, Alvis had looked at him knowingly, and nothing had been submitted.

The man he'd grown up adoring, wanting to be like in every way, so much so he'd emulated him in his first years at Hogwarts; was crumbling beneath him.

:: :: ::

Harry had taken hold of her hand, and was squeezing it tightly, the murder of the muggle woman had clearly upset him, and he was doing his best to comfort her surreptitiously as they both knew what was coming soon. Unfortunately, the press had noticed, and were taking pictures of their clasped hands. Hermione was at loathe to let go however; she needed the support as much as he did.

"There are two memories I believe the court should view next Mr Malfoy, would you like to hazard a guess as to which ones?"

"No," Lucius answered, and a coy, telling smile crawled its way on to his questioners' lips.

"Then let us display a memory from your son, Mr Draco Malfoy." He gestured elegantly for the next memory to be shown, how the unspeakables knew which one to show was beyond Hermione, but they did, and soon, creeping its way up the silvery wall was the picture of a gathering in the Malfoy's sitting room.

Beside her, Draco was breathing in and out overly quickly, appearing to hyper ventilate, his mother had kept a death grip upon his forearm, and as she looked over at the screen, she saw out of the corner of her eyes his knuckles becoming whiter than winter snow.

She attempted to disregard it, and looked to the screen as screams shook through the courtroom.

They were all staring at the face of Lord Voldemort.

His red eyes were gleaming with vengeance, his lipless mouth curved into a mocking smile, his robes were fluttering about him despite there being no wind in the room his was standing in.

"Lucius," Voldemort said, "Narcissa, it is a wonderful day for the both of you, for my son has chosen to enter my service." He smiled cruelly at the pair of them.

Draco had begun to tremble in earnest, and she darted a look at him, watching his nostrils flare.

"Your arm Draco," Voldemort demanded, his long twisted but somehow elegant fingers reaching forward. Draco was remaining stock still in the memory, and the act of it was causing Voldemort to smile even nastier at the courtroom who were all struggling to keep their composure after their initial screams.

Hermione couldn't blame them, it was one thing to see him in pictures, dead, with flowers bursting out his mouth; but alive, threatening someone in front of them was completely different.

"Draco," The memory of Lucius warned, as the present Draco sat straighter in his chair, attempting to smother his shaking.

In the memory an arm was carefully moved forward, the flesh so pale the veins upon his wrists were visible in the dim lighting of the sitting room. Behind Voldemort, two of his Death Eaters moved to share a whisper, nodding towards him, their faces covered with their masks.

"Silence." Voldemort said simply, and immediately the two straightened up, clasping their hands in front of themselves, obedient once more. A sneer developed on the snake like visage of Voldemort, his hand moving to clasp Draco's forearm within his vice like grip. Voldemort was looking at the memory Draco with such a violent glee the courtroom was doing its best to continue watching, and not bolt through the doors from where they'd come in. He raised his wand up into the air elegantly, his teeth bared in a vicious grin.

He stabbed his wand into Draco's bare flesh.

The tip of it burrowed beneath his skin, releasing something that pulsated and wriggled violently, tearing the skin from his muscles, and revealing the gore below. His skin rippled. Shredding and popping, bubbling like a liquid coming to a boil. Blood dribbled and splashed on to the floor, down his wrists, over his fingers. Over Voldemort's fingers who was staring at him with unrestrained delight.

Voldemort began to laugh as Draco, next to Hermione covered his left forearm with his right hand, his eyes stuck to the projection of himself struggling within Voldemort's grasp, yelling and screaming as his mother tried not to cry behind her dark lord.

Eventually, Voldemort removed his wand, and his skin began to pull itself back normal knitting and sewing flesh together, renewing it in the vilest of manners. The memory of Draco had glued his eyes to his mothers, watching her distraught face struggle to hold back tears.

"Look Draco." Cooed Voldemort; an unrestrained cackle behind his lipless mouth. Draco remained staring, his eyes on his mother's distressed face.

"I said look." Voldemort hissed, fury bubbling on the surface. The view of the memory changed from Narcissa's face to a clearer view of his arm. His skin was bright red; an angry black scrawl was beginning to sharpen into distinctive lines. A snake bursting from a skulls jaws.

The Dark Mark.

Bellatrix cackled, laughing hysterically.

"Cissy! Aren't you proud?" She cried delighted, throwing off her mask and running to embrace her sister as Voldemort turned to speak to Lucius.

"Let us hope your son doesn't fail me." He sneered, challenge dripping from every syllable.

:: :: ::

Bile was rising in his throat. A cold sweat had burst out upon his forehead, and he was struggling to remain still, not shaking as if he were a deer about to be shot. His mother had held his arm throughout the memory, refusing to look at him, attempting to keep him as stable as possible.

The urge to vomit was building, as he watched himself wipe away blood that had covered his hand.

He gagged. He lost.

Vomit splattered over his chin and legs, splashing upon the floor in front of him. His mother gasped as Pansy recoiled in horror. They stared at him, astonished, Pansy's lips twisting cruelly into a smirk she'd often reserved for Hufflepuff first years, her dark eyes glittering.

His throat was burning, the taste of his stomach acid overpowering as he breathed in in a poor attempt to calm himself. His arm had burnt while he'd watched the memory, completely unable to look away, the pain of it had been exquisite, and to his horror, re-liveable.

" _Evanesco_ ," whispered Hermione beside him, and immediately, evidence of his weakness vanished into everything and nothing. He looked at her, unbelievably thankful and still shaking. She shook her head, and to his distress caught a sight of Potter whose expression was unreadable, horror and amusement would be his best guess. Hermione on the other hand, was easy. Pity and sympathy.

Opposite them, chatter erupted, fingers pointing. Photographers were looking immensely disappointed that they hadn't been able to capture the moment Draco Malfoy, the son of the trials subject, empty his stomach all over himself and the courtroom. Quills were scratching away frantically, and many members were looking distressed, their own chests rising and falling as they attempted to calm themselves.

He knew why that memory had been requested. That he had become a Death Eater had not been considered a secret, in fact, he'd been foolish and boasted about it. During the last year, he'd been treated well at Hogwarts by the other Death Eaters, simply because he shared that mark upon his arm with them. He wasn't a favourite, but he'd avoided being tortured. His father may have fallen out of favour, but the rest of the Dark Lord's circle had judged him as still to be tested. His disarming of Dumbledore had at least bought him some respect in their eyes, even if they questioned why he was unable to kill him. Snape however, had lied for him at every available opportunity.

Only, the memory showed his greatest failure, and the moment his family began to spiral wildly out of control. It demonstrated perfectly, just how much Lucius Malfoy believed in blood-purity that he had allowed his son to take the Dark Mark and enter a life of servitude. It didn't matter that they were being punished by Lord Voldemort, it was a point they'd said they were ignoring for the time being. If the threat of their lives weren't over his head, and they were still in favour, would he have been allowed to become a Death Eater?

Yes, he would. It was just more glory, and more confirmation that Lucius had borne a son eager to be his clone. The unspoken question hung in the air; had it been Draco's choice, or was he forced? It was an answer he didn't want revealed. He was still trembling. His mouth was dry, rancid and a thin sheen of cold sweat was pasting itself to his skin. He was burning up from shame and humiliation, the last thing he'd expected to do was empty the contents of his stomach in front of the media, and those who wouldn't be able to broadcast it to a country wide audience.

Everything was falling apart.

"I believe it is time for us to have a break. Perhaps go for a walk, stretch our legs, eat and drink." Kingsley's calm soothing voice came from his corner. Draco had completely forgotten that he was even there, and at the sound of his voice jumped slightly. He looked at him, only to meet the eyes of the Minister of Magic, who was regarding him sympathetically. His shame flared.

"I agree," the questioner replied, and immediately, the doors opened, and the aurors stood, ready to usher people back out.

"We'll break for half an hour. Then this shall continue." Shacklebolt commanded, and stood, gesturing for people to begin to be let free.

:: :: ::

"Are you alright Draco?" his mother was saying, keeping her lips as still as she could once more.

"Yes, it just wasn't a pleasant thing to watch was all." He told her, just as quietly. He'd been able to effortlessly block actually viewing the memory when handing it over due to his occlumency, but watching it; he'd recalled how it had felt. He'd remembered the panic, the revulsion, the sharp, sharp pain. If anything, this was the reason to use his occlumency once more, even if it meant not seeing Hermione in his dreams again. They'd become an odd source of comfort. Her eyes, calculating, agonised as she stared at him, screaming in pain.

"How'd you vanish it?" She asked him, her brow creasing.

"I didn't." he admitted, "It was Granger." At that, his mother pursed her lips, her nose in the air. She released a low hiss, angry immediately.

"Draco! That was disgusting, what was that?" Pansy trilled, disgusted, pressing a glass of water into his hand as they stood in the waiting room.

"It wasn't particularly a memory I wanted to relive Pansy." He answered coldly, raising the glass to his lips and taking a sip. Immediately the clammy taste that his vomit had left was washed away, his insides cooling as he took another mouthful.

"But, gross. To puke like that. Ew." Pansy announced, curling her nose up.

"Why are you even here?" Draco spat at her, infuriated suddenly.

"Because I asked her here Draco," his mother said gently, "I asked if I was allowed to ask anyone to come to the trial, and thankfully, Minister Shacklebolt agreed that asking Pansy here would be support for both of us. Be thankful she was able to come." Narcissa chided him. He sneered at her, unwilling to verbally antagonise the smirking Pansy further.

The news horrified him. She'd spent the entirety of the trial behaving as though she had a front row seat to the best drama around. With a sinking feeling he realised that was exactly what she had. Chances were she had no real wish to be contracted to him anymore. She may have greeted him every morning with a kiss on his cheek or jaw, but if Pansy was attracted to anything, it was power, and the Malfoy's used to have it in droves. Now it was all being revealed just how tenuous that power actually was. It was so easily dismantled.

Especially considering when over half those involved were now either dead, or waiting for their own trials. The rest of them so heavily blackmailed the moment the threat disappeared had started to surreptitiously right their wrongs.

So like a fly to honey, when the call had come from Narcissa for her to attend, of course she had. She'd return to Hogwarts and enchant all the Slytherin girls of how she had been there to comfort Draco Malfoy as she watched his father be sentenced to either a life in Azkaban and, or the kiss. How, she hadn't wanted it to happen but, it had, and right in front of her too! Then she'd find a way to sever the contract tying her to him, and say how she really didn't want to, but she wanted a stable family, and one where every member had suffered some sort of incarceration wasn't particularly ideal. Or perhaps she'd call in her father to do it for her. Then cry in the girls' dormitories for three days straight and lie about how upset she was, but her father just didn't approve anymore.

He gritted his teeth, feeling his temple throb with anger. Raising his glass to his lips once more, he dwelled on what his mother had said. She'd asked for her presence and it had been granted. Was it a hint that their good behaviour wasn't going unnoticed? He wouldn't know. It was hard to tell with Shacklebolt.

The dark skinned man with his rich tones, and calming presence wore stress better than his new headmistress, but it was difficult to know what he had a track of. It was unlikely he and his mother would have been allowed to invite a guest if they had been hell raisers.

The thought calmed him, and he schooled his face into a pleasant expression, waiting for the half hour to be over.

:: :: ::

"So the great Malfoy puked." Harry said thoughtfully, confirming Hermione's suspicions that Malfoy's sickness hadn't been subtle at all.

"Yeah…" Hermione mused.

"I didn't realise that Malfoy had that happen at his house though… I mean, he could never see the thestrals to my knowledge, so he can't have seen them murdered in front of him. Only, he had them in his home being… tortured. It's like he had a version of the Dursleys." Harry was musing aloud, the pair of them quiet by the remains of a potted plant.

"It makes you think doesn't it?" Hermione replied, catching Harry's eye.

"I wish it didn't."

So far the trial had been enlightening. Lucius Malfoy hadn't been a man swept up in the danger of Lord Voldemort when he'd recruited followers. He'd believed whole heartedly, in his cause. He'd voluntarily gone to his side, and been included in his ranks. He'd relished in the glory and power of it all, enjoying showing his forearm to those who stood in his way.

Beside her had sat his son, who had spent half the time sitting stock still, carefully schooling his face into an emotionless slate, or trembling. It was in one sense, unnerving, in another, it was relieving to know that he loved his parents.

:: :: ::

They were back in the little, dimly lit courtroom, listening to yet more evidence that Lucius Malfoy was a manipulative, dangerous man. They were discussing bribery, his actions threatening the school board of Hogwarts amongst other institutions. Somehow, boxes and boxes of paperwork had materialised, each with the distinctive smear of the Malfoy brand of corruption painted upon each bit of parchment.

He wet his lips a little, shame making his heart beat faster.

He'd always known of course, very little had been hidden from him about his father's actions in the Ministry. Only… there was something deeply humiliating about discovering to what lengths he had gone to. It was galling to learn that the Minister of Magic would only come to dinner so regularly because often they were sitting in Lucius's pocket, blackmailed or bribed to keep them powerful.

After all, it was common knowledge that the Malfoy family was so rich none of them had to work.

Constantly, his father was asked why. Why. Why.

Every time. Without fail. It came back to his prejudices.

He'd done that because he was searching for the Dark Lord. He'd done it because he had heard a rumour about Harry Potter. He'd done it because it kept his family in power.

Finally.

He'd done it because he'd been asked to by Lord Voldemort.

Did he believe in blood purity?

He'd answer yes. In defeat. He knew. His father knew.

:: :: ::

"This memory was kindly donated by Miss Hermione Granger," the words echoed about the hall, and immediately her hand shot to Harry's gripping it tightly. Instantly, Harry rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, attempting to soothe.

Her screams ripped through the silence that had formed like a knife slashing at velvet.

She turned her head, looking to Harry who had closed his eyes, his jaw tight, teeth gritted. He was unwilling to watch, knowing he'd felt angry and helpless in the time he'd spent in the Malfoy family homes cellar. His guilt was going to be overwhelming him. Instead, she found herself turning to look to the man who had been there, watching her.

Draco was staring at her.

His ice eyes were wide, glassy. His pale pink lips parted. The light from the chandelier illuminated his face so that instead of making the sharp angles of his face dangerous, he was softened, protective.

She stared back, holding his gaze. Her own lips parting in surprise. His eyes never wavered from hers as his now deceased aunt screeched at her, calling her a mudblood. Telling her she was scum. Screaming where had she got it from. _Where!?_

He looked at her, searching. Searching for something. Maybe she was making it up.

Harry was still stroking her hand, as her screams heightened. She started to sob in the memory, between her shrieks of agony.

Still, Draco looked at her.

Flashes began to burst into life opposite them. Alerting her that the media had noticed them staring at one another. Her cheeks began to flush, but still, she could not look away. He leaned towards her a little, looking as though he was going to say something, but didn't. Still he looked.

Her heart began to beat so fast she was sure it was going to burst out of her chest. He watched her carefully, taking note of her cheeks blush.

She watched him trace her face with his ice like eyes, regarding him carefully. He really was attractive. She'd missed it somehow, over the years she'd known him he'd always looked… rat-like, but he'd grown up. He'd matured like Harry, like Ron.

She wondered briefly why she'd even turned her head in his direction; she should have just hung her head. She knew why. She wanted to see that he was sorry, that he wanted to do something while she was stuck on the floor of his house, that he hadn't wanted that for her. That he didn't actually believe in the cause. That at that moment in time; he was just as trapped as she was. She knew it wasn't his fault. She'd been there when he'd lied, lied to his own father in front of him about Harry's identity, a note that had already been revealed by Harry's memory; and had been analysed immediately, how had Lucius felt seeing his son lie to him? He'd been dismayed.

Still his eyes were upon her, searching. Desperate.

Her screams were dying. The memory was ending. Harry squeezed her hand, and released her. Draco swallowed. And looked away.

:: :: ::

They were discussing sentences.

There was finally nothing else to cover; no more confessions could be pulled from his lips. All the memories harvested had been viewed, with people coming in to confirm or deny, paper work proving them right or wrong.

Shacklebolt had spoken sternly several times, reminding them all that his father had been invaluable in the capture of many other Death Eaters, and that he'd switched sides. Even, more humiliatingly, that Mr Harry Potter himself had even spoken about leniency. Still. The kiss. It hung in the air. Spoken. Spoken again. And again.

Each time, Shacklebolts face grew darker, thunderous, and the press would supply the lightning.

His father sat in the chair, chained. His head on his chest, defeated. Accepting. He couldn't bring himself to move his head to look at them, and Draco realised he couldn't bear to see his father's face.

His family was officially about to never be the same again.

He kept his mouth still, his eyes bored, his arms and legs motionless. The trembling that had cursed him earlier gone with Hermione's vanishing charm. Now he was as still as a mountain. His mother was too.

Pansy however, had leant forward in her seat, her expression eager. Her excitement was palpable. No longer could he stand his future so tied in with hers. After all. If his family was about to shatter into smithereens before his eyes, he could smash his future with her.

Still they argued.

Eventually, arms began to be raised in favour.

Guilty? Yes. Most definitely. Just look at his left forearm.

The punishment.

:: :: ::

She could think of nothing but Draco.

Shacklebolt was holding court, attempting to drown out the shouting from those whose vengeance was a curse upon their beings. Their rabid eyes and mouths frantic as they shook their fists and wands in their desperate attempt for their own brand of justice.

Then they were silent.

"What good would it do all of you to become as bad as them?" Shacklebolt was saying, watching them carefully, his voice as calm and reassuring as it always was. "You all owe your lives, your families' lives to his wife. She lied to Lord Voldemort, risking her own life. His son told you, told all of you that the Malfoy's are a unit. They did what they had to survive, and we have seen it that this is true. Is Lucius Malfoy a corrupt wasteland of a wizard? Yes, he is and he has admitted as such, but what would we gain if we gave him the kiss? Satisfaction? Is this what we want? Is this what we need to base our judgement on, our own need for vengeance and revenge, instead of fair justice. Are we deciding right now that we want our world to give a fate worse than death? Have we not had enough? Do we want more?" Kingsley cried, staring each of them down, pacing around Lucius Malfoy as he spoke, reminiscent of Dumbledore.

For two hours more. They argued.

She was barely paying attention. Questions raged in her mind. She could smell him. Smell the earthy scent of Draco Malfoy. Was that him? Was it his cologne? Was it inherited? Why was she thinking of this when she was watching one of the most important decisions in the wizarding world be made right in front of her face. Why was the smell of a man who had bullied her so important?

Her head was swimming. She was floating, wringing her hands in her lap as her mind raced over everything that had happened since the final battle. She'd barely paid attention to the trial. Instead she'd lingered on her close proximity to Draco, thinking of his sneering, droll voice, and the way he'd amused himself at the memorial service.

She remembered him handing her her wand, the first time they'd ever spoken on neutral turf. It had been as though they had no history together. It had been awkward, but easy. She'd watched as Shacklebolt had so casually ripped his family members away from one another, seeing his falling face as his mother vanished in front of him.

The discovery he was human.

What was he going to look like when his father was sentenced? Could she look? Would she look?

What was happening to her?

:: :: ::

"Life imprisonment in Azkaban."

The decision was made.

:: :: ::

He gasped in relief, as his mother gave a wail of shock. Pansy just sighed.

A clock chimed. Two am. His mother was pulling on his sleeve, they were allowed to say goodbye.

:: :: ::

She looked briefly, and saw the back of him walk away from her, aurors tailing him and his mother to the centre of the courtroom. Photographers were snapping away at Narcissa slipping her hands through the bars, caressing her husband's face. Draco was stood behind her, his face impassive, and he nodded once, in the overly macho men do when they're in pain.

She tore her eyes away, looking to Harry who was watching her carefully, expectantly.

"I need to talk to Ginny," she said to him quietly, and he nodded, understanding.

As he turned to usher her out, his eyes met with Shacklebolts, and the pair of them smiled at one another, victorious. A true example had been made of the Malfoys, complete with revelations the press had been delighted to record, but it hadn't been spiteful, it had been as fair as it could be given the circumstances.

They were changing the wizarding world, was the Order of the Phoenix.


End file.
